The Ghoul, The Bad, and The Ugly
by InRodWeTrust
Summary: Fallout 3 era, chronicling the adventures of the Lone Wanderer & Charon. Rated because of foul language/unnecessary amounts of gore/red hot ghoul lovin', sort of.::Thank you so, so much to everyone who has R&R'd. I'm truly honoured. And mildly aroused.::
1. Of All the Jet Joints In All The World

**Lone Wanderer**

Perhaps the last thing one wants to see, having just spent 2,000 hard-earned caps on a bodyguard, is said bodyguard splattering the wall with his previous boss' brains. It doesn't say much for employee loyalty. But before I had time to regret my decision, the ghoul who went by the name "Charon" had advanced on me. Needless to say, I flinched.

"Alright. Let's go."

"Whoa! What the fuck was that?" I spluttered, shocked and more than a little concerned about the new friends I was making

"Ahzrukhal was an evil bastard. So long as he held my contract, I was honour bound to do as he commanded. But now you are my employer, which freed me to rid the world of that disgusting rat. And now, for good or for ill, I serve you."

And so it came to be that I acquired my most loyal companion (sorry, Dogmeat - my most loyal _human_ companion) in my arduous journey through the Wastelands. But I think I'm starting in entirely the wrong place. Let's go back to the start.

*****

I won't bore you with a detailed retelling of my first few months out here - I don't suppose anyone really gives a damn - but every story has to start somewhere. Turns out, surviving out in the Wastes wasn't as easy as I thought it was going to be. Call it youthful arrogance, or just plain stupidity, but I thought I could handle it outside the Vault. I thought it would be a breeze compared to living with the Overseer. But that idea was shattered the second I stepped out into natural sunlight for the first time in my life and was near blinded. Of course, things only got worse when my eyesight cleared and I was met with a landscape more expansive - and more frightening - than I could ever have imagined.

Thank God for Megaton.

I honestly think that if I hadn't stumbled upon that strange little settlement, I would have been dead in a week. If the raiders or radscorpions hadn't got me, starvation probably would have. Or just blind naiveté. As smart as I thought I was inside 101 (and believe me, I thought I was real smart), it all meant jack outside in the real world. I needed someone to show me the ropes.

Thank God for Gob.

I don't know why he was so nice to me. Maybe simply because I didn't freak out and try to shoot him in the face the first time I met the guy - although, that would have been a hilarious sight to behold, me with my BB gun and all the life experience of a goddamn three year old. Don't get me wrong - I did freak out, but I was so lost for words that I just sat there with my mouth agape and let him talk. That was how I discovered ghouls, and pretty much everything else that I needed to know about surviving out in the Big Wide World. It was a lot to take in, and despite how much I wanted to find Dad, it took me a few days to venture out of the safety of Megaton again. Part of me - the sane part, probably - just wanted to stay for good. But filial loyalty is a difficult thing to shake, and eventually, I started to explore my new surroundings.

Somehow, and with a little help from the Megatonians, I managed to not get myself killed, enslaved, or eaten. And somehow, I ended up on Dad's trail. It was all thanks to this radio DJ named Three Dog - a real stand up guy, who offered to help me in exchange for a small favour. Bolstered by my successes so far and by Three Dog's faith in me, I accepted without a moment's consideration. My inflated ego wasn't going to survive unscathed for too much longer.

By then, I'd done some odd jobs around Megaton to earn myself some caps. A trader named Moira Brown wanted me to do some weird stuff for a book she was writing - and then there was that bomb. Although the founders of Megaton weren't lacking in ambition, they were definitely at the shallow end of the intelligence pool. Of all things to build a settlement around, an unexploded atomic bomb wasn't the best centrepiece. I may not have known about survival, or guns, or anything Wastelanders thought important - but I sure as hell knew about science. There were a few hairy moments (a couple of times I was sure I was about to meet my maker, the sorry son of a bitch) but I just about managed to disarm that thing. It was actually the first time I'd felt normal since I'd left the Vault - tinkering with stuff that I probably shouldn't have been tinkering with. Well, everyone always said I was my father's daughter, through and through.

Anyway, with the caps I'd saved up, I bought myself a gun - a mighty .32 pistol, to be exact. I convinced Moira to throw in an old, brown leather outfit as well - just so I wasn't always immediately identified as a damn Vault Dweller wherever I went. It generally got me nothing but looks of sympathy or loathing - or both. So, kitted out in my new gear and feeling every inch the dangerous, daring Wasteland adventurer, I set off to do what Three Dog asked. I had no doubt in my mind that _now_ I was tough enough to take it.

I lost count of the amount of times I nearly died. Three Dog's little favour turned out to be a mite trickier than I had first thought. I had to go through a collapsed subway, where I met the _wrong_ kind of ghouls. It wouldn't have been so bad if it just hadn't been so dark. And those things, they were like creatures out of a nightmare. I nearly lost my nerve a couple of times, and I definitely lost my way more than once - but I got through, somehow, and I even picked up some much needed ammo on the way. Looting the dead was something I never thought I'd ever be disrespectful enough to stoop to. I guess things change when you don't have the luxury of cushioned Vault-Tec bubble wrap to protect you from the Big Bad Outside.

Then I hit the Mall, and as if ghouls and mutated bugs weren't bad enough, I was introduced to a whole new kind of terror. Super Mutants. They were the reason I ended up in Underworld. Apparently, I got into a _minor_ skirmish with a few of them, and I woke up, bruised, shot-up and battered, but alive at least, in a ghoul-run hospital. Or at least, I think it was a hospital. Truth be told, it looked more like a mortuary.

As it transpired, I'd had my ass handed to me on a platter by those Frankensteins, and some ghouls had managed to save my sorry soul when the mutants took me for dead and lost interest in my corpse. Apparently, I wasn't even worth looting. Bastards. Anyway, I expected them to charge me every cap I had on me for the help, but they never even asked for an I.O.U. For a few days, they kept me in a hospital bed, and I sat around wondering what the hell their angle was. Being out in the wastes for so long had turned me suspicious - I guess it was ironic that it took a bunch of deformed, mutated freaks to remind me what humanity was like.

When I was finally let out of The Chop Shop - their name for it, not mine - I decided to hang around until I got my strength back. I didn't like to entertain the idea of heading back out to the Frankenstein infested capital city, but instead of facing up to my pure, unbridled cowardice, I told myself that I still wasn't well enough to go anywhere, and that Dad could wait a few more days. Besides, it wasn't like he worried about me when he decided to up and abandon his kid.

That was another thing I hated about out here. It was turning me cynical. If there was one thing I believed in when I was a kid, it was humanity. Plain old human decency. People could be stupid sometimes, and people could be irrational, but deep down I always thought everyone had a bit of good in them. I'm not so sure any more. Sometimes I think… well, I don't know what I think. I guess it's a hard life out here, and people have to be hard to survive it.

The ghouls were good, though. When I met Carol, and after an interrogation about Gob, she made me feel right at home - and so did Greta, even if she did watch me like a hawk. I could have laughed myself sick when I found out it was jealousy that made her so wary of me. Even if I had been batting for the other team, I'd like to think I could've done a bit better than a half-dead ghoul who pre-dated the War.

I spent most of my recuperation time at Carol's Place until, reluctantly, I decided it was time to go. I packed my few belongings with more than a little sense of regret - just like Megaton, the Underworld felt a little like home, now. But I had bigger fish to fry.

On a whim, before I left, I decided to check out the competition, and that's when I first laid eyes on Charon. I'd heard a couple of people talking about him - whispers, mostly, about his exploits as Ahzrukhal's bouncer. My foremost impression of him was of how big he was. Usually people, both from the Vaults and from without, are pretty short. I guess it comes from the lack of a proper diet. Or the radiation. Or just the hopelessness of the pointless mess the world's ended up in. Charon was different, though. He was at least a foot and a half bigger than me, and taller than any of the men I had met so far. He cut an impressive figure, stood there in the corner like a living, breathing gargoyle.

But his height was misleading; Charon wasn't necessarily big built. He was a pretty lean guy - sinewy, I guess, if you can excuse the crassness of describing a ghoul like that. I suppose radiation sickness is bound to have a slimming effect on you. But however you wanted to describe him, it was obvious that he was strong - and word was, he was a slaughterer with that shotgun of his.

Most memorable, though, was how afraid he made me feel. I have to admit it, as accommodating to ghouls as I like to think I am, they did and still do scare me a little. They just look so horrifying, flesh rotted and eyes haunted. I know it's cruel to think like that, but it's true what Three Dog says - they _do_ look like monsters from an old horror flick. I didn't like to look at Charon for too long; the exposed muscle tissue and the torn flesh made me feel sick, and all too aware of my own mortality. I was ashamed to feel that way, to be so shallow, but it was a natural gut reaction. Nothing I could do would change it.

I think it's fair to say, that's when the idea hit me. Well, it was more like an epiphany, to be honest. Ghouls have a real (undeserved, in my opinion) reputation for being mindless zombie brutes. If Charon made me feel that afraid, even when I knew he was no threat, imagine how he would affect would-be assailants! If I had Charon as _my_ bouncer, I might be able to avoid a fight altogether - and even if I couldn't, I was certain he could handle anything the Wasteland threw his way. I needed help out there if I didn't want to wind up Yao Guai grub - that was obvious enough - and by hook or by crook, I was going to hire Charon to be that help.

**Charon**

Scrawny. Pale. Wouldn't last five minutes out in the Wastes. They were the first things that went through my head when the kid walked through the doors of The Ninth Circle. Then she spoke, something about needing a bodyguard, and the next impression that immediately struck me was "annoying". Why was she finding it so difficult to understand? _Talk. To. Ahzrukhal. _I got nothing in response but a gormless, blank stare framed by a narrow face and unkempt red hair. "Stupid", naturally followed in my lengthening list of adjectives. I breathed a sigh of exasperated relief when she finally got the message and went to talk to the boss, that waste of space, piece of shit Ahzrukhal. I don't know who I felt worse for - he was a snake in the grass and she was clearly mentally retarded. Part of me actually wanted to overhear _that_ conversation.

In point of fact, the more I watched them, the more interested I became. They were up to something, and I had the horrible suspicion the kid was being fleeced out of her life's savings - or maybe just her life, full stop. I would have felt bad, only I learned a long time ago just to stop caring. There was no point when my fucking programming meant I couldn't do shit if my boss didn't give me a pat on the head like a good boy and tell me it was okay. Besides, at least it would be a learning experience for her. What doesn't kill you, right?

Only, that wasn't quite how it worked out. Seconds later, the kid was bobbing around with excitement, waving a piece of paper in my face like it was the fucking antidote to Jet. Her expression was one I'd eventually come to dread - it meant she'd gone and done some sort of stupid good deed that made her think she was a goddamn Hero of the Wastes. That was fine, but it was the resulting mess that I'd inevitably have to clean up which would get kind of grating. That, and the gloating.

So, she had bought my contract. It was just my luck to wind up with some do-gooder smoothskin as my employer. Still, I had to admit, it was better than working for that son of a whore Ahzrukhal. The shit I'd had to take from that guy, the number of times I'd dreamed about squeezing the life out of him, inch by inch. Well, it was payback time now. The kid _had_ done a good thing; after all this time, I was finally able to annihilate my dear old boss - and it was karma, too, for the amount of suffering that drug-pushing slimeball had dished out to others. I think the best thing about it was watching the realisation of what was happening dawn on his face, before his ugly, melted mug exploded all over the bar.

Think I shocked the kid. Thought for a second she might puke, or faint. But she had to learn about the world somehow, and if you asked me, I was doing her a favour. I wiped a piece of brain off her cheek, and vowed my loyalty - for good or for ill.

Probably should have at least asked the kid her name, though.


	2. Stop! Or My Ghoul Will Shoot!

Notes: if I've got any area/quest descriptions wrong, forgiveness please. I couldn't be bothered to turn on the game and go exploring. Bad me, bad! Call it poetic licence.

* * *

**Lone Wanderer**

Charon and I set off not ten minutes after I bought his contract, and after Ahzrukhal had bought the farm. Even though the good residents of Underworld seemed to all agree that old Ahz had got his comeuppance, I didn't think it prudent to hang around too much longer, just in case. On the way, I did try to give Charon a run-down of what we were doing and _why _we were doing it, but he simply shrugged his shoulders at me. I don't think he was trying to be rude - I genuinely think he just didn't care.

We travelled in silence, pretty much. Charon obviously wasn't one for talking, and after several feeble attempts on my part to initiate conversation - which he resolutely ignored - I gave up. Better to focus on the task at hand. We came across our first Super Mutant inside the reception area of the Museum of Technology. We had kept low and against the wall, and the ugly bugger didn't see us coming - we had the advantage of surprise, at least. With Charon at my back, I suddenly and foolishly felt unfathomably more confident. Raising my arm, I unloaded the pistol into the back of that Mutie's head without mercy. I _also_ unloaded several loud expletives that would have made the Overseer blush. Took myself by surprise, too.

Unfortunately, I was apparently a horrible shot and the Mutant was considerably tougher than I had expected. Before I knew it, the monster was running at me with the force of a truck, brandishing a board rammed with rusty nails - although Tetanus probably should have been the least of my worries at that exact moment in time. Charon swore loudly - whether it was at me or the mutant, I couldn't tell, although I got the distinct impression it was aimed in my direction. In a heartbeat, he stepped in front of me and felled the thing with three powerful shots from his shotgun.

"Wow! That was-"

"There's this little thing - I don't know if you've heard of it? It's called _aim_, kid."

It was the most Charon had said to me since we left Underworld, and even though it wasn't particularly friendly, I was encouraged that we might eventually be able strike up some sort of conversation. Always look for the positive in every situation.

"Oh, well, I haven't had the pistol very long, you see, and-"

"Didn't ask for your life story, chuckles. First Frankenstein we come across with a decent weapon, we'll shoot the sucker and take his gun for you. Don't know how you goddamn well managed to last as long as you have."

I was insulted. I felt as though he was selling all of my achievements short. I thought I'd come such a long way since those early days, back when I first emerged from the Vault. Back when radroaches were the worst thing I had ever faced! Back when I wouldn't even have thought to put the words "super" and "mutant" together! Back when-

My reverie was cut short by Charon, who impatiently grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me onwards into the museum. Well, I supposed I _could_ bring up this little issue later, when we weren't surrounded by mortal danger.

We got through the rest of the building in pretty much the same way. Charon found me an old Chinese Assault Rifle, and I had to admit, I was a lot better off for it. I didn't dare to think it then, but I was starting to develop a penchant for blasting those monsters into red mist. Charon, too, seemed to enjoy the slaughter - he spoke more in the heat of a gunfight than at any other time. He seemed the most alive, then, too.

When I finally got to the relay dish, I was exhausted from the fighting and not looking forward to the idea of carrying the thing all the way to the Washington Monument. I'd brought some old leather belts that I intended to use to strap the dish to my back, but when I asked Charon to help, he motioned me out of the way and shouldered it. With a little bit of effort, I managed to secure the dish safely on the ghoul's back. I was inexpressibly grateful. Of course, that didn't stop me from _trying_ to express my thanks, anyway.

"Charon, really - thank you so much for doing that."

"Gnugh."

We got out of the building with no trouble at all - there weren't too many mutants in the building, and the few that had been loitering around we had already dispatched. Although Charon seemed more than happy to plough a route straight through the Super Mutants to the Washington Monument, we kept to the walls and crept our way around on the outskirts of the Mall. It wasn't until we were a hair's breadth away from the monument that one of us spoke again.

"You go on. I'll stay here and cover you."

He was already unfastening the dish from his back when I turned to look at him. I was confused, to say the least. It would be safer for us both with the Brotherhood, inside that monument - and I _still_ didn't want to have to carry that dish.

"Aren't you coming in there with me?"

"If that is what you command, then that is what I will do. But be warned, the Brotherhood won't take kindly to my presence there. They'll probably open fire."

"You've got to be mistaken, Charon - they're the good guys."

"Ghouls, mutants, raiders - they're all the same to those fucking zealots. If you want a quick, bloodless trip into that monument, I advise that I stay here. If you still wish for me to come, well…" And the ghoul loaded his shotgun.

"Okay, okay. I get the picture. Wait here. And… stay out of harm's way, alright?" I felt the need to add this, as Charon seemed to enjoy getting himself into sticky situations. It was like a sport for him.

Loaded down with the dish as I was, it took me a little longer to get to the monument than I had hoped. I felt Charon watching me the entire way, though, and for once I didn't feel even slightly afraid of what might be lurking around dark corners. The Brotherhood of Steel soldiers let me pass without any problem, but I looked at them differently now, without the awed respect that had engulfed me back at the GNR Building Plaza. No one liked those damn Super Mutants, sure - but ghouls, the sane ones, were just people, ordinary people riding a major wave of bad luck. I felt a growing sense of loyalty to my cantankerous ghoul bodyguard, and I was in and out of that monument as quick as I could get that bloody dish hooked up.

**Charon**

When the kid emerged from the monument, the sun had started to set, and she was obviously exhausted. From what I had managed to pick up earlier from her one-sided, high-pitched, and incredibly rapid conversation, she had recently been injured quite seriously - that's why I offered to carry that ridiculous transmitter dish. I didn't think she would be able to make it back to wherever this Three Dog guy was - not without a rest, anyway. I didn't want to say anything - mainly because it might encourage her to start talking again - but I could tell the kid was prepared to run herself into the ground before admitting she needed a break. Dumbfuck smoothskins need to realise their limitations.

"It's getting late. Probably best if we bunk down for the night in the old subway tunnels. We can get in at the old Museum Station."

She looked at me like I had just suggested she go into a Super Mutant camp and dance the lambada wearing nothing but her underpants.

"But… that can't be safe, there are _ghouls _down there. The _mean_ kind."

"Not meaner than me, kid."

That seemed to satisfy her, and we walked for about five minutes into the tunnels before finding an old store room. The door was too mangled to close, but I shifted a bunch of rubble and old sandbags around the entrance so that I had a good defensive spot to keep an eye on what was happening out in the tunnels. I could see the remains of a less fortunate Wastelander a bit further up the subway; I decided not to mention it. Instead, I hunkered down between the kid and the entrance of our cosy little settlement. Despite my better judgement, I glanced quickly around to make sure she was alright. The way the kid was looking at me, I could tell she was getting ready to try to start up a conversation again. Well, she was persistent, I had to give her that.

"You know, you haven't even asked what my name is. Or what I'm doing out here. Don't you care who you're working for?"

"No. That's the beauty of this little set up. You command and I do your bidding. No questions asked."

"Why? Why do you always blindly do what your employer tells you to?"

"Long story." I didn't want to talk about it, and I wasn't going to budge on this one. Unless she ordered me to, of course. _Fuck_ my programming.

"Fine, if you don't want to tell me your story, I'll tell you mine."

A pained groan from the very bottom of my throat - and the very bottom of my soul - didn't seem to deter her.

"I was born in Vault 101, you see, and everything was absolutely fine - if a little cramped - until my Dad disappeared. Well, I _had_ to follow him out…"

Now that she was tired, her voice was lower and surprisingly soothing. I let it wash over me as I kept a wary eye on the old subway. Those poor feral freaks wouldn't touch me, but they might try and give us some funny business if they got a whiff of her. I'd had the need for a lot of sleep beaten out of me a long time ago - I could stay awake while she slept, and then catch forty winks when we were in safer surroundings. If she ever fell asleep, of course.

"…So that was when I came across this mole rat, right - and I'm telling you, this wasn't any ordinary mole rat. This thing was _huge_, like the result of an unholy union between a Deathclaw and a Super Mutant-"

Didn't this kid _ever shut the fuck up?_ I figured if I just stayed quiet, looked straight ahead, she might wear herself out and fall asleep. But it just kept coming. Mole rats, Super Mutants, slavers - she had something to say about everything. Ahzrukhal might have been a nasty piece of work, but at least he kept himself to himself - and left me to my own thoughts. No one knew the value of good old fasioned quiet time any more.

"But then I realised that I had to disarm that bomb - and I really wanted to help those people, you know? So I figured I'd do it - and I don't meant to brag, but I'm smarter than your average Vault Dweller, and-"

It quickly became clear that she was on some sort of misguided mission to save humanity. I didn't have the heart to tell her there wasn't anything left to save. And after she had finished telling me how she was the freakin' saviour of Megaton, she finally gave up the ghost. I looked over to where she was and saw her curl up in the corner, on top of a pile of old mouldy cushions. She caught my gaze,

"Aren't you going to offer me your jacket or something?"

"Offer? And freeze my fucking ass off? No chance. But if you ask for it, I will obey."

"Tch. And they say chivalry is dead. Nevermind, then."

**Lone Wanderer**

I let out a loud yawn as I decided to give into sleep. I'd done my best to engage my companion in conversation, and he wasn't interested. I was a little disheartened, but my exhaustion overwhelmed it. For now, it was enough that he was just there - it was nice to be able to sleep and not worry about what might happen during the twilight hours. As my vision was beginning to blur, a final thought struck me.

"Hey!" I said groggily, "I guess now I'm sort of like that Herbert 'Daring' Dashwood guy - which would make _you_ my stalwart ghoul manservant!"

From the look on Charon's face, I guessed he didn't appreciate the term "manservant" all that much. His reproachful silence, as always, spoke volumes.

"Yeah, well, I suppose it wouldn't really work, anyway. I never really was into the _'dames'_."

Charon gave me that now familiar grunt to signal he had heard what I had said, but wasn't going to give me any sort of satisfactory response. As far as he was concerned, that was the end of the conversation, no argument. It was a noise I would grow to despise. The ghoul shifted his body in the direction of the opening, literally giving me the cold shoulder - but I swear to God or Atom Almighty, just before he disappeared into the darkness, I saw that ghoul grin.


	3. Much Ado About Power Armour

Rather than follow the Lone Wanderer's story (which everyone knows, at length) I figured I'd try something different and make up a quest that _could have been_, involving poor old Charon's past. It was inspired by the fact that you can equip your stalwart ghoul manservant with power armour without training.

* * *

**Charon**

The kid snored - although she outright denied this when I brought it up later. It wasn't the deep, phlegmy rattle of destroyed vocal chords which I was accustomed to while watching out for Ahzrukhal (the guy was paranoid enough about assassins to make me stay in his room every so often - yeah, believe me, I don't like to think about it, either), but instead it was a curious, high pitched sigh. The rhythmic sound was almost hypnotic, and eventually I drifted off into a sort of trance.

_It was always the same. Always. His fucking smug face. I swear, as long as I live, I'll never forget his face. The others were there, too, but never in focus. Just him, standing alone, taunting. The worst thing wasn't that I couldn't fight back, but that I didn't even feel the compulsion to. I felt nothing. That was the whole point. I saw him and all I could do was obey. He was Father, he was Mother, he was __**God**. And he loved it, the sick fuck. The things I did - the things we all did. He turned us into monsters - and then I goddamn well literally turned into one. Karma. You've gotta love it._

She turned over in her sleep and it altered her breathing. It was enough to break my concentration and pull me out of my daydream. I was grateful for it - too many times I'd let myself return to that place, that time, and torment myself unnecessarily. I had to focus on something else, my old fail-safe. Jacks. Just a fucking kid's game, but it's good for stopping your mind from wandering when you don't want it to. I reached into one of my pockets, and started to play. I wouldn't stop until my thoughts had stopped betraying me.

**Lone Wanderer**

When I woke, I couldn't tell how long I'd been out, but I felt like I'd slept for days. As the haze of slumber cleared from my eyes, I could make out Charon's solitary silhouette still, as far as I could tell, in the exact position that I left him when I drifted off. It was eerie, like he was some sort of lifeless statue. On my knees, I crawled slowly towards him and reached out a hand to touch his shoulder; I half expected the cold brush of stone against my skin. Not so. Recoiling, he spun around in an instant and scared me shitless.

"Christ, Charon! You made me jump."

"What? You were the one who crept up on me. Not the smartest idea when I've got a shotgun in my hands. You're just lucky I've got the reflexes of a cat whacked out on Mentats."

I looked at him, eyebrow raised. Charon had deadpan down to an art; I could never tell if he was making a joke or whether really meant what he said. I think I caught the corners of his mouth twitch, but it might have just been a trick of the light. I smiled at him, nonetheless, but if anything I think it just made him uncomfortable - he shuffled away from me and got to his feet in a movement that could almost be described as graceful.

"Let's get moving. You've been lazing around long enough."

My strategy was simple - get to Three Dog, find out the information he had about Dad, and then head out towards what would no doubt be our touching reunion. But life seldom goes to plan - if I'd learned anything from the last few months, it was this unalterable truth - and fate had different ideas about what my immediate future held in store.

*****

At the GNR Plaza, we passed a dead Brotherhood Paladin. Despite what Charon had told me about the Brotherhood's questionable opinion of ghouls, I still felt obliged to kneel down beside the poor sod and say a few words. Fact was, the guy died protecting the weak - and that deserved a moment's deference. While I had my eyes closed tightly, mid-prayer, I felt the corpse beneath me begin to move. My eyes flicked open, ready to witness this miracle first hand, and I instead was confronted with Charon trying to extricate the dead body from its power armour. I cried out in astounded outrage and shoved Charon away.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Charon's expression mimicked my own - he clearly didn't know why I was protesting. I sometimes wonder, had it not been for the contract I held, whether Charon might have just knocked me clean out.

"You've seen one corpse, you've seen 'em all! We may as well loot the asshole - this guy's no better than anyone else. In fact, scratch that, he _is_ better; this armour will fetch a tidy sum, I'll bet."

I was disgusted, mostly at myself because I found his logic sound. What sort of person had I become to think what he said was justifiable? Sure, I'd searched raiders and slavers and even the odd dead Wastelander when I had to. But this guy had died fighting the Good Fight. He deserved better. There had to be a line somewhere, but I wasn't sure where it was anymore.

There was that annoying, matter-of-fact little voice at the back of my head that told me the Paladin was dead and that my need was greater than his. That he was just one more stiff claimed by the Capital Wasteland, and if I didn't take his stuff, someone else would. In short, that Charon was absolutely right. It was beyond irritating.

"Fuck you, Charon. Fuck this whole place. It turns people into barbarians."

I scraped my hands though my hair and turned my back on Charon and the corpse. Out of sight, out of mind. I knew it was childish, but I couldn't help but take my frustration at myself out on him. He was the nearest animate object at the time. I didn't expect an intelligent response - just for him to stand there in silence, or even worse, to remind me that, as his employer, if I commanded him to leave the body he would obey. But he did speak up, and most alarmingly, he seemed to know exactly what I was thinking.

"Kid, don't be so hard on yourself. The natural instinct to survive is strong. Best way to honour his death is by fighting to stay alive. A body's just a body, anyway; soul's what's important."

I turned, amazed, to face the philosopher. Where had all this deep profundity been hiding? There I was ready to write the guy off as an all-killing, all-dancing automaton, and he drops that bomb on me. I hadn't even stopped to think Charon might have an opinion on an afterlife, on the soul. I was honestly lost for words - something that I wasn't afflicted with very often. Luckily, Charon kick started the conversation again.

"Now, do you want me to take the fucking armour or not?"

And there he was again, the Charon I thought I knew. I couldn't help but laugh - a short, humourless exhale that I didn't recognise.

"Hell, I don't know. Yeah, it might be worth a bit in trade, but who knows when we'll come across the next caravan and it'll just weigh us down. Neither of us know how to use it, anyway."

"Speak for yourself, kid."

I could tell from his expression, the second he had said it, he wished he hadn't.

**Charon**

Shit. _Shit!_ I knew I'd dropped the ball this time. That girl missed nothing, and she was relentless in her pursuit of business that was none of hers. Now I'd let something monumental like that slip, she'd never let it lie.

"How do _you_ know how to use power armour, Charon? I thought you had to undergo special Brotherhood training before you'd be able to use it."

And there it was, right on cue. I figured I'd just have to throw her off the scent - feed her some bullshit and hope for the best.

"Been around a long time. You pick up knowledge like that in the Wastes. No big deal."

I shrugged nonchalantly and ditched the helmet I was holding. It was pretty fucking weak. If that were really the case, you'd see a lot more raiders waltzing around powered up to their eyeballs. I was just hoping she was still wet enough behind the ears to bite.

"No. No way. I don't buy that for a second. Tell me what the deal is, Charon."

Well, I was goddamn well cornered, then. I didn't have a lot of choice other than to tell her the truth. But I just knew if she found out, she wouldn't be able to let it lie. She'd have to go on a shitting crusade to bring justice to the wronged. More than that, though - I just didn't want to talk about it. Past was the past, and there was no point in dredging it all up again. I grunted, and replied reluctantly,

"If that is what you command, then I'll-"

"Ah, shit! I don't want to feel like I've forced you to do anything. Can't you just give the whole obedience thing a break for five minutes? I don't like it - it makes me feel uncomfortable."

Good. She was distracting herself from the issue. I just had to keep her on this train of thought, and I'd hopefully be able to keep her out of my life before I became _this_ - somewhere I didn't want her anywhere near. Fucking do-gooder wouldn't be able to resist meddling with the skeletons in my closet.

"You bought my contract. You knew the terms."

"Yes, but I didn't think- I mean, when Ahzrukhal said- I thought it was just a figure of speech. Exaggeration. Not being free to make your own decisions, think for yourself - that's - it's just awful."

The kid walked up a few of the steps towards the R building and sat down on a wall. She slumped over on her elbows and raked her hands through her hair again - I'd eventually come to associate this gesture with her being under stress. I wasn't used to this - to an employer who actually gave a shit about the fact I was lacking that pretty important feature of humanity, _free will_. But if anything, it just annoyed the crap out of me. I didn't know how to handle her or her fucking bleeding heart. Some things were just the way they were. There was no reason, and there was no need to try and fix it. Not that anyone could, anyway - I'd exhausted all avenues a long time ago. Ahzrukhal had just asked the bare minimum about my past, and that was fine by me.

Still, I figured if I didn't say _something_ she might just explode - or even worse, start to cry. Strange and dangerous territory for me; if that happened, I'd be fucked. I was fresh out of teddy bears and ice cream. I did my best to offer some words of comfort.

"Kid, I'm not gonna lie to you - it's shit. I'm programmed to do anything you ask me to. But what's the point of getting upset about something you can't change? Life's like that sometimes. I'm also stuck with a face like a Brahmin's ass, but you don't see me whining about it."

Her face was still lowered, but I heard her laugh. It was quiet but definitely there. Now, I just wanted to get out of here and as far away from this crock of shit touchy-feely moment as I could. Babysitting was harder work than I had expected. But just when I was about to say something to this end, she spoke up again. Kid just couldn't leave it alone!

"You can't be serious. Not _anything_ I ask you. I mean, what if I told you to don a dress and put on a burlesque show for the Brotherhood. You wouldn't do it… would you?"

"I would do as I was instructed to do."

"What if I asked you to give me a foot rub?"

"I would do _as I was instructed to do_."

"… Shoot yourself in the head?"

"Is there any point to this, kid? I mean, are you actually going to ask me to shoot myself or are you just being an asshole?"

She laughed again, although, personally, I couldn't see the joke. I was honestly getting tired of this, and damn near ready just to let her know whatever she wanted to. At least that way I'd get some peace. I tried again to get us moving.

"Aren't we supposed to be meeting up with Three Dog? You'll never find Daddy if we don't, remember?"

**Lone Wanderer**

So he had been listening to me back in the tunnels! Well, that was a little bit of good news, anyway. But he knew everything about me - apart from my name, of course, which out of principal now, I wouldn't give until he asked - and I didn't know a thing about him. I wasn't going to rise to his bait; I know that's what he wanted, to distract me from the information I was so tantalisingly close to. Charon was a tricky customer, but he couldn't outsmart me. I was seconds away from getting the truth out of him, and I wasn't going to let him wriggle out of it this time.

"Charon. I don't like to do it, but: I order you to tell me what happened to you. What were you before you were…,"

"Before I was this ugly fucking monstrosity?"

"Well, I wouldn't have put it that way myself, but yes, alright. What happened to you?"

His face collapsed, as finally, he gave in. Charon took a seat next to me on the wall - well, I say next to me, but in reality, he was as far away as he could sit without falling off. I'd noticed Charon didn't like being close to me - or perhaps, it was _me_ that he didn't like being close to _him_. He didn't even like to catch my gaze for long periods of time. I suppose it was difficult to always look into people's eyes and see ill-concealed revulsion.

"Okay, kid. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin."


	4. Once Upon A Time In The Capital Wastes

Notes: Just a quick filler chapter to get the intrepid two launched on their Wasteland adventure. Will they get ensnared by malevolent slavers on their way past Paradise Falls? Will their uneasy relationship begin to blossom? Will Charon ever find out what happened to his missing big toe? Tune in next time to find out!

* * *

**Charon**

For the first time that I had known the kid, she sat, listened, and didn't interrupt once; had it been any other situation, I would've been thankful. Best option, I decided, was to just do this quick and painlessly, like a band-aid. So I started speaking.

"The first memory I have was when I was three or four years old. I was in a cage with a couple of other kids. The door opened and a man came in. He had yellow teeth and his breath was fucking disgusting; Dr. Salvatore. He took me away with him. 'Course, back then, I was normal looking, like you.

"The next few years are pretty hazy. I think I remember a couple of operations, I definitely remember a lot of pain. And rules. There was a rule for everything. If we did anything wrong, pain was always the punishment. He seemed to always be injecting us with something, but when we asked - if we dared to ask - he would tell us it was for our own good. At first, it was just me and one other boy. Over the years, others joined us. Every now and then, one of us would disappear for good.

"The first thing I remember clearly must have been when I was around twelve. He was telling me to shoot this guy. Just a dumb fucking Wastelander who we found half dead out in the Wastes after being attacked by a Yao Guai. The asshole was really fucking pathetic, whining like a little pussy about needing water. But I still didn't want to do it - shit, I was just a kid. Didn't matter, though. I raised my gun and shot him in his face.

"That was what life was like for all of us. We never knew why we had to do what he said - some of us reckoned it was the conditioning he'd put us through when we were really small, others reckon he did something to us, to our brains. I didn't give a _shit_ why, I just wanted out. We were like his personal, miniature army - and we were fucking tough as brick shit-houses, too.

"Bastard must have been a member of the Brotherhood of Steel at some point, because as soon as we reached adulthood, he whacked out this crazy power armour. He taught us how to use it so we could be twice as tough, twice as deadly. Didn't look like the armour those fanatics have today, though. I guess his stuff was old school.

"Anyway, as it turned out, fate stepped in on my behalf. It got me a way out of that place, although now I wonder if it was really worth it. Gradually, I started to change. My skin started flaking, my voice started to get raspy. I don't even know _why_ - but that guy was ever vigilant. He didn't miss a trick. The second he suspected what I was, what I was becoming, he tossed me out on my ear without so much as a farewell. He gave me nothing - no food, no way to defend myself, not even any clothes. Just a little piece of paper tied to my wrist. My contract.

"I tried to destroy it, but I literally just couldn't. Every time I tried, I would start shaking, feel really fucking sick. My hands wouldn't do what my head told them to. I don't know how that sick fuck did it, but somehow it was wired into my brain that my contract was untouchable - and whoever held it would effectively have the same control over me that he did."

"I still don't know why he did it. As if being a ghoul wasn't bad enough, he had to condemn me to servitude for the rest of my pitiful existence. Maybe it was just to remind me who was boss, even if I wasn't around him anymore. Maybe he just did it for the sake of it. Fuck knows, he didn't need a reason to be cruel."

"At any rate, I was picked up by slavers, and once they figured out my party trick - well, I was top-class, grade A meat. The rest is history, right kid?"

**Lone Wanderer**

I was shocked - although perhaps not as shocked as I would have been a couple of months ago. Now that I was out of the Vault, I could see with retrospect the brainwashing that the Overseer pumped into our lives on a daily basis. It wasn't too far a stretch to find out that someone on the outside, with access to advanced scientific equipment and a good knowledge of psychology, could do it on a more effective, grander scale. It didn't change the fact that I felt absolutely awful for Charon. I had always been grateful for the childhood Dad had given me. Sheltered, perhaps, but it was always happy and I, every second, felt loved. Needed. Wanted.

I could tell he didn't want to say any more about it - and I wasn't going to make him. He had already told me more than I had expected. Many people, faced with such a tragic story of misfortune, might not have known what to say. I, of course, rushed in with my usual upbeat optimism and can-do attitude. This was a trait of my personality I would, you'll be happy to hear, eventually learn to curtail.

I rested my hand on his forearm; his leather armour ended at the elbow, and from there on was exposed skin and muscle. I realised it was the first time I had actually touched any part of Charon, and for some reason, I (guiltily) expected him to be cold. He wasn't - although the second my skin touched his, he pulled his arm away in surprise. I don't think he meant to be rude, I just don't think anyone had touched him as gently in a very long time.

"Shit, that's terrible Charon. I'm so sorry - I won't even pretend to understand what you've been through. But at least, I guess we know what we have to do now."

"We do?

Charon's voice was full of suspicion and, dare I say it, dread. It was entirely justified. He looked at me sidelong with his milky eyes.

"Yes. This man - this Dr. Salvatore - he needs to be taught a lesson. But not just that: he still could be holding people captive to his demands! They might be suffering still, forced to do his bidding every day. We've got to go find out, and help them, if we can."

I thought I was being altruistic, putting aside my own desire to find Dad to help Charon defeat his demons. Apparently, Charon didn't agree.

"Are you kidding me? Kid, I never want to see that motherfucker again. If he's still doing it to the others - well, that's too bad for them."

But I of course, wouldn't - couldn't - let it lie. It wasn't _just _that I wanted to help the others that might be in Charon's situation. I've always possessed an inquisitive nature, and something about Charon's story just didn't sit right with me - I mean, apart from the whole 'enslaving an army of children to do his bidding' thing. I didn't suspect Charon of lying, but you see things differently when you're young. I wanted to find out the truth.

"Charon, I really think-"

"Kid, I'm warning you, don't get mixed up in this."

"Fine, I'll put it in terms that you'll understand. Remember how good it felt when you shot Ahzrukhal? Well I'll bet offing this guy will trump that, a thousand-fold."

"No!"

I was appalled at his unwillingness to help anyone other than himself. I had suspected that underneath his gruff exterior, there was a heart that beat the same as anyone else's, but now I looked at him with a new perspective. I didn't like to believe that the only reason Charon seemed to care about my welfare at all was because I held a certain piece of paper, but in reality, that _was_ the only reason. Still, his selfishness didn't alter the fact that I knew wrong from right, and as I held his contract, I was going to force him to help me whether he liked it or not.

**Charon**

She stared at me with an expression I'd never seen on her features before, although I had witnessed it many times in my life - the look of pure, revolted disgust. But it was even _worse_ than that, because try as she might, she couldn't hide the disappointment that was beneath it. Disappointment in _me_. It was terrible.

Don't get me wrong, I hadn't gone soft. The fact she thought I was a hard-hearted, callous swine didn't bother me - the sooner she learned that, the better. It was simply that I couldn't bear to see _that face _on _her_. It was like someone had crushed the last bit of hope in the world, and even though _I knew _this place was a depraved, fucked-up shithole, the thought that there was one little girl who still had ideas of heroism and self-sacrifice sort of made it seem, I don't know, a little less bleak.

But even so - even after _that face _- I still didn't want to go anywhere near my past. Plus, the route wasn't exactly an easy one; we'd have to go right past Paradise Falls to get to it, and that was just the last known location I had for Salvatore. Likelihood was that he had long since moved on - or kicked the pail. He wasn't exactly young when I was chucked out on my ass all those years ago. A sigh of exhaustion escaped me - because this kid _was_ exhausting - and I stood up from the wall. Why couldn't things ever just run smoothly?

"I still don't know, kid. It's… complicated."

She stood then, too, but walked straight past me and back in the direction we had just come. She had her gun out and her head bowed, by which I think she was trying to tell me she meant business. Kid was learning, I had to give her that - if you meant anything out here, you did it with a weapon in your hand.

"No, Charon, it's not complicated at all. You're coming with me. It's an order."

Her voice was low and slightly hoarse - and horribly unfamiliar. I cussed under my breath and took one last, longing look at the GNR building before I set off behind her like a little lost puppy.

"Well, fuck, if you're so goddamned eager, at least walk in the right direction, then."


	5. Dear Hearts and Gentle People

Notes: My version of events wanders quite substantially away from what happens in game - but then, my Charon isn't strictly speaking how he's portrayed in Fallout 3, either. So, friends, Romans and Wastelanders, permit me a little bit more creative licence, and once again, forgive me for any finer details that I may have got incorrect.

**Lone Wanderer**

So, we set off in pursuit of Charon's past, while I put the quest for my own on the back burner. It wasn't until the adrenaline had worn off that my zeal for doing the right thing began to waver and I started to regret my impulsive decision. Dad was out there somewhere right now, and I was wasting my time on a miserable, ungrateful old ghoul and the ghosts of his past, who were more than likely just as miserable and ungrateful as he was. But I suppose that's the point of being selfless - if it had benefited me in any way, it would sort of defeated the point.

Besides, I didn't think Dad was in any trouble - from what I had heard, it was obvious he could handle himself out here in the Wastes, even if I was still trying to figure it out. It was just that - well, I missed him. If I was honest, I missed the Vault, the friendly faces, the safety. Freedom was magnificent, but a part of me longed for the security of my childhood. But I was safer now with Charon at my back, and this was the least I could do for him in return. I was certain our voyage into his childhood would help Charon face up to his demons.

Once we got out into the Wastes, the going was alright. We came across fewer and fewer Super Mutants - which was absolutely fine by me - and I always kind of thought that the view out in the Wasteland was awe-inspiring. Maybe it comes from living in a goddamned vault all my life, seeing nothing but muted greys and metallic blues, but the landscape out here never fails to take my breath away. Every now and then I would stop just to look at the scenery around me. Charon would stop as well, but rather than the view, his cloudy, enigmatic eyes would fall on me and he would give me the strangest of looks. I think he found it somewhat more difficult to see the magnificence of our surroundings.

We didn't talk much, really - instead, we would listen to Galaxy News Radio on my Pip-Boy, which I could now pick up as far out as I liked. Once or twice, Three Dog gave me a shout out - specifically, thanking me for fixing the relay dish and asking why I hadn't yet come back to claim my reward, namely the location of Dad. It would make me smile, and when Charon caught sight of me, he would tell me that the fame had gone to my head and that grinning made me look like a smug, goofy asshole. This would just make me grin even wider.

When we set up camp that first night, and despite Charon's protestations, I made him rest first while I sat up to keep watch over the Capital Wasteland. It didn't take him long to drift off I don't think, but it was difficult to tell - his breathing hardly changed at all, and he was so silent and still that had I not known any different, I would have taken him for a corpse.

While he slept, I could study Charon more closely than I had yet been able to (I didn't think it would have been particularly polite to gawp at him while he was wide awake and knew exactly why I was gawping). In slumber, his ruined features were almost peaceful. Almost. His melted face had a funny way of always making him look angry, even while in the tranquillity of sleep. Or maybe it was just that his sleep wasn't tranquil at all, but a nightmarish place in which he relived his life of servitude and pain.

I studied him for as long as I could, but found that I eventually had to look away. His face was a constant reminder of the tragedy that had engulfed the world, and I found that although I was becoming less frightened of his monster-like appearance, he now just made me feel sad. It made me resolute to befriend Charon, despite how much he tried to resist, and despite the fact he was determined to paint himself as a heartless, selfish brute. I knew there was good in him somewhere - he'd just had a hard time of things. Perhaps it was just pity, but I was growing attached to my ghoulish bodyguard. He was, after all, the closest thing I had to a friend since I had left Megaton - even if I'd had to pay out of my ass for his companionship.

The hours passed uneventfully; we switched positions, and when I woke, it was morning. Breakfast was Mutfruit and a handful of Sugar Bombs, and while I ate and Charon checked and re-checked his shotgun and ammo, I quizzed the ghoul about what lay ahead of us through a mouthful of half devoured food. Out here in the Wastes, I found increasingly that my manners were beginning to wane.

"So, anyway, what is Paradise Falls?"

He took a moment to look up from his weapon to give me an incredulous reprimand. I shrugged my shoulders and continued to chew - there was only one way I was going to learn about my new environment, and that was by asking.

"Are you kidding? You don't know what Paradise Falls is?"

"Nope. I wanted to ask you when you brought it up before, but I was trying to pull off the whole dramatic exit thing, and curious questioning isn't conducive to drama."

He put his shotgun back down on the floor with surprising tenderness. He was always doting on that gun - cleaning it, checking the barrels, making sure it was never too far out of reach. I didn't understand, then, the bond that was formed between a Wastelander and his primary form of defence.

"Shit, sometimes, kid, you're too much. It really is like you've been living in a box all your life. Huh, I suppose you have. Anyway, Paradise Falls is slaver central around these parts."

**Charon**

Oh, shit. There it was. That look. That "It's time to save the world and sense be damned!" look. I suppose I should have known better, because the second the word "slaver" left my lips, I knew exactly what was going to happen.

"A whole slaver camp? And they're just allowed to get away with that? No one's tried to stop them yet? It's a total disgrace. Someone should do something."

I could tell she was once again getting ideas of interfering with things she shouldn't be interfering with, but this time it was a lot more serious. It was all very noble that she wanted to do the right thing, but thinking like that got you killed out here. The bad guys ran the Wastes, and one little girl with big dreams wasn't about to change it.

"It doesn't work like that. You don't mess with business that's not yours; this isn't a small-time vault. You leave the slavers alone, and they'll do likewise."

"But you can't buy and sell people, Charon. You of all people should appreciate that."

"I appreciate the reality of the situation."

She got up from where she was sitting and sat on her knees in front of me, palms up-turned as if she were pleading, although I don't think that was intentional. Just from the expression on her tilted face, it was obvious she couldn't understand the problem with what she was saying. I in turn couldn't understand her - she was smart enough, and she could do the numbers. There two of us and a whole bunch of them. Even if we had it in our minds to cause a ruckus, what could we seriously do?

I frowned at her and shook my head, looking back down at the shotgun in my lap. Her wide-eyed, expectant face was just too much. It's true what they say - people from the vaults really do look different. I can't really describe what it is, and I couldn't put my finger on it then either, but she somehow just looked, shit, I don't know. Untainted. She didn't fit in in the Wastes. She was like a square peg trying to squeeze into a round hole, and I didn't know if I had the energy - or the ability - to soften her edges.

"Someone needs to do something! Frankly, I find the way everyone seems to brush this under the carpet absolutely disgusting."

She got up, angry, and began to pace back and forth. I didn't know what it was going to take for her to realise she had to stop acting like a child every time she didn't get her way and grow the hell up. If she wasn't careful, she was going to get herself hurt, or worse. I could protect her from getting shot or getting captured or getting taken advantage of, but I couldn't protect her from herself. Fucking Vault Dwellers should just stay put; they don't understand how the real world works.

"Kid, stop seeing the world through rose coloured glasses. It's ugly, it's cruel and it's out to get you. That's the truth.I think, just this once, you should listen to me. We can go around that place without having to ever interact with any of those scumbags. Let's just leave them to their business, and keep to ours. We're not going to Paradise Falls."

**The Lone Wanderer**

When we reached the entrance to Paradise Falls, a grizzled, unfriendly looking man welcomed us at the front gate - well, I say "welcomed", but I use the term in the loosest possible sense. If anything, I got the distinct impression that he was trying to ward us away, but I wasn't going to let a spineless slaver sentry stop me from getting in. I just didn't know exactly how I was going to do it.

"Hold it right there. Nobody gets into Paradise Falls unless they're on slaver business, and I say what qualifies as slaver business."

I've always thought very highly of my intelligence, and of my ability to speak charismatically to the people I meet - but if I'm honest, I didn't have a clue as to how to handle his sort. The slaver code of conduct was a total mystery to me. Luckily, Charon was somewhat more streetwise, and on hand to help me out. He sidled up beside me, shotgun in hand, and waved it menacingly in the face of the guard.

"Do you want me to teach him to show you proper respect, mistress?"

I wasn't expecting that response at all, and was understandably taken aback. I felt very uncomfortable about Charon acting the part of a slave, mostly because he essentially was one to that contract of his. I justified it with the argument that I didn't treat him like a bound man, and that if I didn't have his contract, someone far less savoury would. But still, the line was incredibly fine.

Thankfully, though, I caught on to the game before I ruined what Charon had so cunningly set up and rolled my head to the side in an attempt to look casual, like I did this sort of thing all the time.

"No, we'll let him live another measly day - although that's probably all he'll manage to get with a smart mouth like that on him. Now are you going to let me through, friend? Or shall I take my caps elsewhere?"

The man's face wavered; I could tell he wasn't sure if we were bullshitting him or not. In the end I guess he figured letting us in would be the best option - if we tried to start any trouble, we wouldn't last very long in there anyway, and turning away caps was one of the most stupid things you could do, apart from smart-talk a ghoul with a bad temper and a big gun. I think this was the first time my pale skin and Vault Dweller manner worked in my favour; I was obviously no Wastelander, and in wanting to get into Paradise Falls, I had to have either been a slave-owner, or a total idiot.

"Fine. Whatever. Talk to Eulogy Jones; he'll set you up with what you need."

I don't know what I expected to find just beyond those gates that lead into Paradise Falls. Part of me imagined hundreds of half-starved, skeletal creatures chained to the walls and begging for scraps - but really, it wasn't that much different from any of the other settlements I had been to. I was still finding it difficult to adjust to the fact that outside my vault, slavery and the like was just accepted as another part of life. I suppose I had never believed Dad when he told me what it was like beyond the walls of my underground home - I had assumed, like all children, that he was simply scaring me in an overprotective attempt to keep me safe.

Inside the slaver compound, Charon stayed close to me - the closest he had dared to come since we had started travelling together. His eyes constantly darted around as if he expected something bad to happen - and I didn't doubt that it might. He had experience with slavers, after all, and it would have been silly for me not to heed his warnings. Well, to an extent, anyway. If I'd listened completely, we wouldn't even have been there. As we walked into an open space surrounded by buildings, several insalubrious residents looked at us as though we were so much useless trash; I bowed my head for a moment, and whispered to Charon,

"I'm going to try to talk some sense into this Eulogy Jones - he's obviously the boss around here."

"Eulogy won't want any of your sort of sense, kid. By Wastelander standards, he's a fucking billionaire. Appealing to his good side isn't going to work - he doesn't have one."

"Don't be so defeatist. I'm going to try anyway. Let's go see if we can find him."

We decided to split up (or rather, I decided, because Charon was most reluctant to do so). I headed towards what looked like an open air bar to see if I could find out the whereabouts of Eulogy, and Charon went in the other direction entirely. I crept up to the bar as quietly and non-conspicuously as I could, but I still stuck out like a sore thumb. I could feel the eyes of everyone around me burning into my skin, but I held up my head nonetheless.

These scumbags lived off of fear, it was how they ran their business. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of scaring me. Not too far beyond where I stood, I could see several giant cages - no prizes for guessing what they kept in there. The sight bolstered my resolve, and when I sat down at the bar I was, not surprisingly, immediately approached by a bystander. I looked up; he was a tall, bearded man whose face was greasy and whose eyes were mean. He grinned at me with black teeth and I had to fight to hide my disgust.

"What business would someone like you want round here?"

"My business is with Eulogy Jones. Do you know where I can find him?"

The man blinked at me, apparently unused to being asked a polite and civilised question. He of course took it the wrong way, and assumed I was trying to sass him in some way. A nasty little laugh escaped him as he prodded my shoulder with a stubby finger.

"What, you think you're too good to talk to the rest of us? You think your shit stinks better than mine? I'm just gonna have to teach you to be a little more friendly to strangers."

I remember Charon had told me that the only language these sorts of people understood was violence. If you gave them even a hint of apprehension or fear, they would be all over you. The trick was to talk tough, even if you didn't feel it.

"You don't scare me, asshole. If you didn't have all your goddamned slaver buddies around you, you'd be clucking like a fucking chicken."

My approach hadn't worked - being insulted by a scrawny little nerd like me had apparently just incensed him further, and he pulled me to my feet by the scruff of my neck. I turned to face him; I'd dealt with bullies before - they were all basically cowards who would back down if confronted. Or at least, that was the theory. He likewise squared up to me. My heart started to race the way it did when any conflict seemed inevitable - I never was nor ever will be a natural fighter - and adrenaline pumped through my veins. I wasn't exactly sure what I was going to do - I still had my assault rifle strapped to my back, but I wouldn't have been able to grab it in time if my new friend decided he wanted a firefight. I clenched both of my fists and hoped that I would somehow prove to be a natural at bare-fist brawling.

All of a sudden, though, just when I thought he was about to launch himself at me, he grunted in disgust, spat at my feet, and turned to leave. I thought for a moment I had called his bluff, but a quick turn of my head confirmed what I thought to be the more likely case; Charon stood not a foot behind me, arms folded across his chest and face as dangerous as I had ever seen it. I was disappointed that I hadn't been able to scare the man off on my own, but not exactly surprised. Somehow, he had a sort of sixth sense for when I was in trouble; I was grateful that, no matter where we were or what was happening, he always had my back. I turned to Charon.

"Uh, thanks. Did you find Eulogy?"

Charon was still eyeing the retreating back of the slaver with menace, but he eventually tore his gaze away to look back down at me.

"He was otherwise engaged, kid."

"Huh?"

"You know? Makin' bacon. Doing the mattress mambo."

"Um…"

"He was fucking his bit of ass, kid. At it like a yao guai in heat. You know what I'm talking about."

"Oh, uh, right! Yeah, of course. Obviously."

"…You do know what I'm talking about, right kid?

I remained silent, but I fear it incriminated me further. The left corner of Charon's mouth tugged into a lopsided grin, and he bent his head down to bring his face a little closer to my own. I didn't look away - I had nothing to be ashamed of - but equally, I couldn't think of anything intelligent to say.

"Kid?"

"Okay, alright! If you really must know, I've never personally had first hand experience with those sorts of activities."

It was one of the few times I've ever heard Charon laugh so freely - a low, guttural noise that sounded almost obscene. But in my defence, my confession wasn't technically true. Freddie Gomez and I had shared an adolescent fumble back in the Vault one sweaty night in my sixteenth year. Neither of us knew what we were doing and both of us left the room feeling confused and slightly violated. After that, I guess I just hadn't had the compulsion. Plus, every time Freddie and I tried to speak to each other - when those other stupid Tunnel Snakes weren't around, anyway - we would just get embarrassed and quickly go our separate ways. It wasn't really our fault; sex education had never been a vital part of the curriculum growing up.

Personally, I couldn't see what the fuss was all about, anyway. Running around trying to hop into bed with each other and wasting all that energy in the process. There were far more worthwhile things to devote the pursuit of to - science, for example, and as Three Dog liked to put it, fighting the Good Fight. People had their priorities all wrong, in my opinion. And besides, this sort of mockery was rich, coming from a walking corpse whose sexual organs had most likely dropped off by now. I would have said as much, but I thought perhaps it might have been just a little too hurtful. For all I knew, it could've been true.

"Shut up. We've got more important things on our plate at the moment. Have a seat."

I decided that I would wait for Eulogy to… uh, finish up, and so I sat down with Charon at the bar for a drink. I didn't have anything myself, but Charon knocked back a couple of shots of what I assume was whiskey. His ghoulish constitution must have been a lot stronger than the average human's, because they didn't seem to effect him at all - he was still grinning his strange lopsided grin after the third glass. Eventually, a blonde woman emerged from the large building opposite to us; I looked to Charon and he nodded. It was go time.

**Charon**

We stood up from where we sat - the kid full of determination and me still trying to stop myself from laughing. I swear, I'd think I'd have her all sussed out and then she'd pull something like that out of her closet. Don't really know why I was surprised - she was obviously as pure as the shitting driven snow - so maybe it was her honesty that threw me. She was goddamn entertaining, though, I'd give her that; the kid was alright.

The contemptuous stares of the Paradise Falls residents as we made our way to Eulogy's pad sobered me up plenty, though. Fucking shitpoke slavers. I remembered from what little time I spent with them - before I was snapped up by one of the eager enough bidders - that they had no fucking sense of right or wrong, and that was really saying something, coming from me. Kid had already faced off with one of them, and I doubted that was going to be the only incident we'd have here.

She'd done pretty good standing up to him, and it wasn't her fault, for once - they were all just itching for shit to go down, so they could claim themselves another human prize. Well, I wasn't going to let it happen this time, now that I had some control over things; any one of them came nearer than they had to be to the kid and I was going to blow their fucking head away. Hell, maybe some of her goody-two-shoes, sweet-as-pie horseshit was rubbing off on me.

We made our way into Eulogy's pad, her in front and me bringing up the rear. I didn't like being in this place - tactically speaking, we were sitting ducks. I had to look everywhere all at once and it was goddamned exhausting. Eulogy was sitting at his desk, his shirt half open and his grin full on. He looked sharper than the grunts outside; this guy was like an eel, and I didn't trust him one bit, despite his friendly façade.

"You must be our prospective customer. I do hope Paradise Falls can accommodate your needs. We make no judgements, no assumptions. We understand that it's a harsh world out there, and you do what you must to make it. Now, was there something specific you were interested in?"

"Well yes, actually, there was. I wanted to speak to you about letting the slaves go."

"Is this a joke?"

Eulogy seemed to address this question to me, having decided the kid was totally off her fucking nut. I tended to agree with him, but out of loyalty, I kept my face expressionless. He should at least have had the decency to hear her out, even if what she had to say was completely unrealistic. But then, these assholes weren't decent, or they wouldn't be in the business of selling human beings. I kept myself alert - I couldn't tell how Eulogy was going to react, but I was going to be ready for him whatever happened. To the kid's credit, she didn't waver for a second. Despite Eulogy's obvious disregard for her request, she kept pushing it.

"It's not a joke. You've made yourself quite a name and, obviously, quite a fortune out of this line of work. Why not take an early retirement? It won't make a whole lot of difference to you, but it will make a huge one to them."

He laughed, short and mirthless. She had obviously not been the first crusader to come through town trying to heal the wounds of a dying world. He stood from his seat, removed a fedora from a hat stand, and placed it on his head. His smile had not left his features, but his eyes were dark and too fucking cruel. He came up close to the kid, and I got ready in case I had to start busting some ass. His voice was as smooth and as full as threat as you'd ever care to hear.

"If you're not here to buy, then get the fuck out of my town. I'll be nice, cuz you're just a youngster, and give you five minutes. If you haven't left by then, you'll be joining the folk you're here to save. Your choice."

I wasn't sure how the kid was going to react, but she had the sense to admit defeat. Without a word, we turned and left the building and then the entire compound. I could feel her disappointment - it was palpable in the air around us. The kid couldn't disguise it; she wore her heart on her sleeve, and the slump in her shoulders and silence of her departure told me how crestfallen she was. It was fucking dumb, if you asked me - what the hell had she expected to happen? Eulogy to turn over and let her spank him for being a bad boy before handing over the keys to the slave cages?

Out in on the hill beyond Paradise Falls again, the kid slumped on the floor and lowered her face. I stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do with myself. I knew what the outcome of this was going to be the second we had stepped in there - in fact, this was better than I had expected, because there hadn't been any bloodshed. But she had obviously raised her hopes for a miracle, even though I'd told her a million times that miracles were unheard of out here.

"Hey, look, kid. You can't win all the time. Some battles you've just got to back down and bow out of."

"I'm not done yet. I'm freeing those slaves, because it's the right thing to do. We'll attack at night, under the cover of darkness, and teach those bastards a lesson. What goes around comes around, Charon. No one escapes their karma."

The kid was fucking batshit crazy, but you had to admire the fact that despite the huge odds stacked against her, she just didn't ever give the fuck up.


	6. Another Day In Paradise

**Lone Wanderer**

"Don't look at me like that. Despite what you might think, I'm not completely stupid."

Charon's face was the picture of incredulity, but what had he really expected? For me to skulk away with my tail between my legs because some big-shot slaver told me to get out of town? Not bloody likely. I wasn't afraid of him or his pathetic little empire - even though I certainly should have been. Of course, I didn't see that then. I suppose I would just get swept up in my own momentum, so that I could never see what was right in front of me. That's why I needed Charon, to pull my head out of the clouds.

"I don't think you're stupid, kid. Just off your fucking nut."

"I do have a plan, you know. I don't intend to just waltz on in there, guns blazing."

"No, you expect _me_ to do that for you, so that you can free a bunch of slaves and wallow in your own sense of self-righteousness."

His arms were, as usual, folded across his chest and he gazed down at me with a look of disgruntled dismay. I smiled back in return on purpose – I sort of liked his churlish, sarcastic sense of humour. It kept me on my toes, and I appreciated the fact he always said exactly what he was thinking. Too few people knew the importance of honesty, these days.

"Oh, ha ha. How very _astute_ of you. Must you always be so cynical? Just trust me, Charon! My giant brain and I have got together and devised a cunning plan."

"Let's hear it then, genius."

Neither his scepticism nor mockery could discourage me one tiny bit. I may not have known my way around a gun, but I sure enough knew my way around a solid plan. I always got the feeling that Charon thought I was some silly, defenceless little kid who couldn't look after herself – and I absolutely hated it. I was determined to show him that I could handle myself, that I could pull my own weight. I nodded at him and crouched low to the ground. He did likewise – we were in a secluded ditch beyond the entrance of Paradise Falls, out of sight and out of earshot; a perfect vantage point from where we could plan and plot and strategise.

"So, those two sentries at the front – they're pretty much secluded from the rest of the settlement. We'll kill them and take their guns – quickly and quietly, so as not to raise any alarm. We'll open the gate – not fully, just enough to get through and get back out again, of course. It'll be dark, and there's only two of us. No one would expect an attack from just _two_ people-"

"No. _That_ would be absurd."

"Heh, right. But that means we can stay in the shadows, hopefully remain undetected. If we run into any slavers on the way through to the cages, well, we'll just have to handle them too. When we get to the cages, we arm as many of the slaves as we can, and we get the hell back out again."

Charon caught my gaze and held it solemnly. He seemed to finally be taking me, and my plan, seriously. For few moments he weighed up what I had said – testing for flaws, running through the idea in his mind. Charon was nothing if not meticulous. Finally, he spoke.

"I have some reservations, the first being the glaring fact you seem to have forgotten that the slave pens will be locked."

"There has to be a terminal or a key somewhere. I'm hoping that a sentry might have one on him – but if not, I'm sure I'll be able to find my way in, even if I have to pick the lock. You know, I'm not half bad at that."

"And the slave collars?"

My face fell. In my defence, this flaw in the plan was more to do with my lack of knowledge of the practices out here in the Wastes than any error in judgement. But still, it did throw the proverbial spanner in my works.

"The what?"

Charon's features registered a transitory moment of satisfaction. I don't think that he wanted me to _fail_, exactly, I think he just found my unfailing belief in my cleverness and ability slightly frustrating. I can understand that – looking back now, even _I_ find it frustrating. But in the Vault, I had been a big fish in a small tank. I was a scientist, a technophile, daughter of the Vault doctor – I was used to being one of the cleverer people in the room, used to having bright ideas and being complemented on their successful execution. I hadn't quite yet managed to acclimatise to my new environment.

"That's right, brainbox. Those poor sons of bitches are tagged. They do anything or go anywhere they're not supposed to and _boom_! Decapitation for one."

"I can disarm them. I disarmed the bomb in Megaton – it was hard but I did it. I can do the same for a couple of slave collars. They seriously can't be any more technologically advanced than an atomic bomb."

"But what if you can't?"

"I can do it, Charon. I know I can. I just need some time, and as long as we stay under the radar, I'll have that time."

Charon didn't look happy, but I _knew _I could do this. I had to believe that I could help these people, because I knew that no one else would. If I just turned around and left now, even if it was to find this mysterious Dr. Salvatore and bring him to justice, I would never be able to sleep peacefully at night, or say that I had always unfalteringly tried to fight the Good Fight.

"You're leaving a lot to chance, kid. This is goddamned dangerous territory you're stepping in to."

"I know. But it _will_ work. I just know it. _Trust me_."

Getting in past the sentries without raising the alarm was, in my mind, the most difficult part of the plan. I knew we were going to have to deal with them up close and personal, because gunfire would attract attention; we'd have to slit their throats. When I told Charon what I had in mind, he seemed surprised at my willingness to shed the blood of others. But this wasn't just _anyone's_ blood – back then, I saw a division clearly. There was good and there was bad, black and white - and there was no grey area. These were the bad guys, and they deserved to die. Which was why I was happy to take one of them out myself.

As far as I knew, I had as yet only taken the life of one man for certain. It was a raider I had run into while doing errands for Moira, and it had been in self defense. And most importantly, it had been at a distance. This was going to be different, I knew that - but I also knew that I was doing the right thing. I just needed Charon to give me a couple of pointers first.

**Charon**

So now the kid thought she was some sort of tough shit and wanted me to teach her how to slit a man's throat. Like I said, just when I thought I had her figured out, she'd go and do something like this and fuck up all my preconceptions. Well, so be it. She commanded, so I had to obey. The kid had her own knife, at least, but a combat knife is pretty much a staple of survival in the Wastes, anyway, so I wasn't really surprised. It's remarkable how often a simple knife can save your life – from hacking a molerat to pieces for a bit of meat, to hacking open a man's throat.

First, I asked her to show me how she thought the best way to do it was. I even gave her a hint and told her to take me by surprise from behind. Admittedly, I was much taller than she was – but the sentry was going to be taller than her, too, and she needed to be prepared for anything. Her approach was clumsy at best. By the time she had her arms around my neck, I would've had the chance to turn around and incapacitate her. To top it all off, when she finally had the knife in position, she managed to drop it, laugh, and say, "Whoops!" like she'd dropped a fucking table knife at a dinner party.

I didn't see the funny side, personally; this was serious business. I was already in a bad mood, to start with - being at such a close proximity to the kid made me feel uncomfortable, and I fucking hated feeling uncomfortable. As a rule, I tried to stay as far away from smoothskins as possible; enough times I had felt them physically recoil from me, and it was never exactly a riot being reminded of just how repulsive I was to behold.

The kid was the opposite of me in every way possible. When her arms enclosed around me, her sleeves hitched and she exposed her wrists; her skin, unlike my ravaged body, was pale, soft, and invited touch – and it reminded me all too well of what I had lost. Not just my own humanity, but the ability to have anyone else see my as anything but a walking corpse. That sort of shit was bound to sour anyone's mood.

But desperate times called for desperate measures, and if I didn't show the kid what to do, likelihood was she'd get herself shot to pieces. Or enslaved. Or raped and mutilated. Or all of the above. She was going headfirst into the snake pit and she didn't have any idea how potent the venom was. Luckily, I knew all too well.

So, she bent to pick up her knife and waved it in front of me with a stupid grin on her face. I couldn't believe her attitude, her languor towards what I was trying to teach her. This was her life. This was my life. This was the lives of the slaves she wanted to free and the slavers she wanted to kill. She needed to get her priorities right – stop thinking about the glorious result and focus instead on how she was going to get there.

"Stop messing around. Try again."

She did as I asked, just as clumsily as before, and so this time I took the opportunity to knock the knife from her hand, and elbow her in the stomach - not enough to hurt her, but enough to make her gasp and step back in surprise. It was all the opportunity one of those slaver sentries needed to turn the tide and shoot her full in the face. I turned around to face her, and she was holding her stomach and glaring at me. The kid was clearly angry, but what she didn't understand was that I wasn't trying to humiliate or hurt her, but protect her.

"That was completely unnecessary! You weren't supposed to actually _hurt _me! that seems somewhat counter-productive."

"What, you think they're not going to struggle? You're trying to kill them, kid. Anything goes. In the end, it's gonna be you or him – and you had better make sure it's that asshole who takes the bow."

"I can't take you by surprise, because you know what I'm doing! This is stupid, Charon. When it comes to the time, I'll-"

I didn't let her finish: I had to teach her how to do this the only way I knew how. The hard way. I snatched out a hand and grabbed her right wrist, spinning her around so that she faced away from me. I twisted her arm – hand bent backwards - up behind her shoulders, before lifting my knife and holding it to her neck. She cried out in surprise, and did her very best to struggle, but every movement she made worsened the pain. Even if she had been stronger than me, she would have found it difficult to break free. I knew, because I had been in exactly the same position once, too. Entirely defenceless, in crippling pain. My mouth was inches from her ear, and when I spoke to her, I wanted her to truly understand the magnitude of what she was planning to do.

"The only way you're going to learn how to do this properly is to know how it feels yourself. It's the only way _I_ learned."

After a second, I released the pressure on her wrist - but left my other arm around her neck for longer than I probably should have, and we stood there for a few moments in an awkward kind of embrace. I don't really know what happened; I expected her to pull away out of anger and pain, but she didn't move, and so neither did I. It was the closest I had been to a woman in a long time; I could feel her chest rise and fall with her shallow breathing, and the warmth of her body as it pressed against my own. By chance, I caught a glimpse of her neck, right at the point where it met her shoulders at her collarbone. Once again I was struck by the clarity of her skin, sheltered as it always had been from the harsh post-apocalyptic sun. It was tantalisingly close to my course, calloused fingers, and I was tormented by the scent of her unsullied flesh and hair. The experience took me by such surprise that it nearly winded me; I was abruptly reminded of all the things I missed from my human life. Of all the things that now were out of my grasp. _Fuck this life, this miserable goddamned existence. _

**Lone Wanderer**

Charon's sudden attack had not shocked me nearly as much as his sudden closeness had. It was strange being so near to him, especially as I had grown accustomed to him constantly keeping his distance. When he released my arm and failed to step back from me, I admit I didn't move either. I simply closed my eyes, and it was astonishingly easy to forget Charon's rotten skin and even more rotten temper. He was, deep down, just a man.

In my adult life, I had only ever been so physically close to two other men – Dad, and Freddie Gomez, and as one of those men was my father and the other was the result of inexperienced teenage curiosity, neither had made me feel the same way I felt right then. Not that I _knew_ exactly what I was feeling, of course. I was in the embrace of an unfamiliar man who I had only known for a matter of days, and who I was trusting to hold a knife to my throat. It made absolutely no logical sense - which was the only sort of sense I was ever concerned with - but for some reason, at that instant, I didn't feel like I was just _the kid_ anymore. Or at least, I didn't _want_ to be.

But the moment passed, like all moments do. I pulled free of his grasp and turned around to face him. I looked at him and he looked back, but neither of us said anything. Then I grabbed my knife again. I was ready to take this seriously, now. Having Charon's knife at my throat was frightening, even though I _knew_ he wouldn't hurt me. I didn't want to think how I'd feel had he been a slaver intent on actually killing me; these rehearsals were the only way I'd never find out.

I motioned for him to turn around, and this time I didn't mess about, or laugh, or speak. I didn't even wait for his back to be fully turned, before standing on my toes, and raising both hands above his shoulders. My left I placed over his lips, and the right I made a slicing motion with my knife – quick, seamless and lethal, just as I had been shown. Then I let him go and stepped away; for my success I was awarded a rare nod of approval from Charon, and with a grunt, that was that.

We spent an hour or so going over tactics – what we would do if this should happen, or if that should happen. Charon again gave me a few pointers on ranged fighting, on how to keep myself concealed while maintaining a good shot of the enemy, on leading a moving target when aiming. We went over and over who would go where and when, who would cover who at what points, and the more we spoke about it, the more nervous I became. Neither of us mentioned what happened before.

When night began to fall, Charon and I watched the denizens of Paradise Falls as they slowly began to filter out of the open air of the settlement to where they presumably slept. When we decided to make our move, there were still a few slavers hanging around and getting drunk together – but we figured that it was about as empty as it was ever going to get, and that we could take them out as and when we needed to. The fact that these guys knew they were the top of the food chain generally worked against them – inside their fortified walls, they were unsuspecting of any attack that might happen.

The two sentries were sat across from each other at a table, playing cards. The good news was that they were distracted, the bad news was that one us had to get behind the sentry furthest away form us without being seen in the lamplight. Charon motioned that he would go around, if I took the one closest to us. I stayed pressed against the wall, and edged slowly towards my quarry, concealed partly by the sandbag behind which they sat. At all times, I kept an eye on what Charon was doing. We had to be in complete synchronisation for this to work.

Mere feet away form the guards, I laid in wait for Charon to get in position at the end of the sandbag wall. My pulse was racing faster than I had ever known it and I had to fight to keep it under control in case I started to get light-headed. I did my best to push thoughts of failure to the back of my mind, and just focus on the task ahead of me, but it was incredibly difficult under so much pressure. I was worried about my grip on my combat knife – my exposed fingers were sweaty from the tension, and I didn't want to drop it. I was worried that I wouldn't be strong enough, or fast enough. I was worried that I would get Charon killed because of my own stupidity.

But then Charon gave me the signal, and the next few seconds were a total blank. I don't remember any sort of rational thought process going through my mind – I don't even think there was one. I stood from my crouching position, and lunged for the man directly in front of me. I aimed for his mouth, missed, and instead yanked his forehead back so that his throat was exposed. He tried to make a noise, but was silenced as my blade slid across his throat. He gurgled, twitched, and clutched desperately at his gaping, bloody wound.

It didn't take much pressure – just the smallest of force and a fountain of blood was spilling out and down his body, which was now slumped on the table and looking as dead as you like. I hardly felt any resistance against my blade when I did the deed, and it terrified me how he had been alive one moment, and dead the next – and all because of me. It was a momentous feeling, to have that much power over someone. Momentous, and absolutely terrible. But I didn't have time to consider the philosophical implications of what I had done – Charon had dispatched the other sentry, and was searching the man's body for something. When he found what he was looking for, he held it up in front of me and grinned his lopsided grin; keys.

**Charon**

She'd done good, I had to give her that. Part of me had expected her to freak out at the last second, but she had done just what she said she would. The worst part was over now – well, for her, at least. We kept to the plan, opened the gate just enough to get under easily, and unlocked the doors that let us into Paradise Falls. Inside I could see that the drinkers from before had all dispersed in the mean time. So far, so good – it looked like Lady Luck was on our side for once. But one thing I had learned was to never rest on your laurels – too often, everything could all go tits up without warning.

Paradise Falls turned out to be a surprisingly good place to sneak. There was little light, and lots of obstructions to hide behind. We stayed crouched, guns out and ears alert, but we got to the slave pens without a hint of trouble – to be honest, the way everything seemed to go to plan was making me nervous. By the time we reached the pens, our presence had attracted the attention of the few slaves who were still awake. They crept over to us, cowed and unsure of our intentions. Two little children and an unstable looking man met us at the gate. Not surprisingly, they addressed the kid when they spoke, and they looked at me with the same derision I imagined they would have for the slavers. Fucking ungrateful little shits

"Hey hey – who are you? What are you doing here?", the man hissed. That was fucking gratitude for you.

"I'm here to break you guys out! Charon, unlock the gates!"

I moved to do as she had asked, but was stopped by one of the children – a boy, who looked like he hadn't eaten in a goddamned week but was still ready and willing to beat the shit out of any one of the slavers if he got the chance. I could appreciate that sentiment – he reminded me of myself, back all that time ago.

"Those keys won't work, you stupid mungo. You have to go and activate a terminal or something – it's over there by the bar."

He pointed, and the kid and I looked in the direction in which he was motioning. The fact that the keys didn't fit the slave pens made me feel a bit better about the whole deal – things aren't _supposed_ to go right all of the time. Life just doesn't work like that, and nothing the kid ever says to the contrary will change that.

"I'll go. I can activate the terminal, no sweat. Stay here and-"

"And watch your back. Got it. Just be careful, kid."

She smiled at me; she was obviously deliriously happy about how the whole thing was going down. But it wasn't the time to celebrate yet, and I didn't want her to get ahead of herself and get sloppy. I heard the boy talking to me through the gate, but I wasn't listening to him - I was watching out for the kid. All I needed now was for some slaver asshole to decide to take a midnight stroll and catch her totally unawares, splatter her brains across the fucking wall. I didn't take my eyes off her darkened figure for so much as a second as she made her way around the bar, found the terminal, and began to work her magic. Sneaky little bitch could've made herself a real good career out of being a common thief, if she didn't have such a hard-on for being the good guy.

I heard a chink behind me to signal that the gate had been unlocked, and sure as shit the kid was up again and making her way back. I heard shuffling behind me, and I looked away from the kid for the first time since she had left my side; I didn't want those goddamned slaves fucking this up for us now. A few more had woken up, and they were edging ever so slowly towards the gate. I had to put a stop to any ideas they had about making a run for it – that would cause all sorts of trouble for me and the kid, and as far as I was concerned, their lives came after ours in importance.

"_Stay_. _Put_. If any one of you moves, I'll shoot you myself. We'll get you out of here, in our own sweet time."

The kid joined me again, and together, we moved into the slave pen, closing the gate behind us so that at a glance, nothing would look different to a passer-by. The crowd of slaves began to encircle us, and there was a sort of wave of excitement and fear emanating from them like heat on a cold night.

"Okay, we're here to help all of you, but first I need to get those collars off. Does anyone know anything about them?"

Silence. I could see from the expression on the faces of the slaves around us that no one thought she would be able to disarm the collars. They had obviously tried enough times themselves, with most likely gruesome results.

"Fine. Then I need to have a look at one myself. I need a volunteer."

No one stepped up, the fucking cowards. Too scared to die, even more afraid to live. But then the boy from before raised his hand and sat, cross-legged, in front of the kid. She switched on the light on her Pip Boy, and we made a protective semi-circle around her so that we could block as much of the light as was possible to prevent detection.

I watched the kid as she worked – her nimble, dextrous fingers dipping in and out of a little box full of wires, and her lips moving unconsciously as she talked herself through the task. She was obviously scared about messing it up, and hurting the boy who had volunteered – her face, illuminated by the light, was grave and humourless, and as pale as I'd ever seen it. Her eyes were full of concentration. But, shit, I had faith in her. She may have been a worse shot than my fucking grandmother, and she knew cock all about survival tactics, but she _was_ goddamned clever. Too clever to waste her talents out here.

The slaves were getting nervous – it was taking the kid longer than she had expected, and it showed on her face. I tightened my grip on my shotgun; I had no qualms with putting them out of their misery if they looked like they were going to sour the plan. But thankfully, it never got to that stage. There was the slightest of clicks, and the collar clinked to the ground in front of the boy's knees. He whooped in surprise and joy, and everyone simultaneously made a hushing noise. She had done it, just like she promised, and I was fucking proud of her. She looked up at me and smiled again, and I detected the slightest hint of a smug I-told-you-so. The rest of the slaves got into line, and I turned my back on them to keep an eye on the town.

As it turned out, our luck was about to run short. Before the kid had finished disarming even half of the collars, I saw movement by one of the buildings. I placed a hand on the kid's shoulder to get her attention; beyond the cage doors, a slaver had emerged from the warmth of the indoors and had started heading dead in our direction. I turned my face in her direction and whispered,

"It's the motion sensors on the collars. He must smell a rat. We'll hide. Hopefully he won't see us in the dark, and then we'll ambush him."

She nodded, and the kid released the collar she was working on to move with me to the corner of the pen - but a few of the slaves had other ideas. They were coming tantalisingly close to their freedom, and the thought that it might be snatched away from them before they even had it sent them into a blind panic. Before the slaver had even reached us, they propelled themselves through the closed gates and into the open. It wasn't long before their bodies ended at the shoulders.

_Shit._


	7. Bullet For A Bad Man

Notes: First of all, I would like to say thank-you to everyone who has left a comment. I have tried to respond to each one individually, but for those of you not logged in and for those of you who I missed due to the brain worms, thank you. I never expected this story to be popular, especially because most of it is just the frantic ramblings of my sleep-deprived brain at 4 am in the morning. I am entirely overwhelmed, and to be honest – as you can probably tell from the length of time it took me to update - now I'm terrified of letting you all down further on in the story. Don't lynch me if I do. Or, at least do it painlessly while I sleep.

Anyway, having taken the opportunity to have a quick zoom through the past 6 chapters, I have noticed several glaring spelling and grammatical errors, plus a couple of gaping plot holes. I beg pardon for these, and any that may appear in future chapters – and there will most likely be plenty more of both. Rest assured that when I have finished the story, I will take it all down, check each chapter though and re-upload so that the story is fixed and correct for posterity.

And on a happier note, please see my profile for a link to the first of several fanart illustrations done for this story by the wonderful, spectacular and hyper-talented Jen!

Thanks again, chaps.

* * *

**Charon**

I _knew_ it was all going too well to last. People are fucking stupid, especially when you stick more than a couple of them together; the first sign of trouble and panic breaks out, over-riding any sort intelligence or forethought they might otherwise have had. Fucking herd behaviour. _If they had just stayed put!_ We could have kept hidden, the slaver would have gone back to his little hut and we could have _all_ got out of this without being noticed, and with our heads in one piece. But they fucking got scared and ran – and the guard had no choice but to press that little button on his radio control. It's what I would have done if a mob of crazed slaves were rushing me.

As soon as I knew what was happening, I ran out with the escapees – not to stop their getaway (it was their own stupid fault if they got themselves killed), but to off the slaver before he could raise the alarm. As quick as I was, I couldn't beat the time it took him to press down his thumb, and as I raised my gun, heads exploded all around me. It didn't stop me from shooting the guy in the face, so that by the time I lowered my weapon, he looked like one of the slaves he had just decapitated. There was gore everywhere I looked, although that sort of thing didn't bother me anymore. I'd developed a strong constitution for this sort of thing. Even so, we were royally fucked now - I knew the sounds of the commotion would attract attention sooner rather than later. I grabbed his rifle and ammo and stashed it in my belt. It was time to run.

It was about then that I realised the kid wasn't with me. Stupidly, I had assumed that she would have been smart enough to follow my lead and stay close to me while I navigated through the exploding heads of the escaped slaves – but when I looked around, she was nowhere in sight. That's what I got for assuming the kid was in _any way_ normal. When I looked behind myself to locate her – in sheer disbelief, I might add - she was still in the slave pen, bent down on one knee and trying to diffuse the collar of a terrified looking woman. I swore, and ran back over to her. I had to get her out before this place was crawling with pissed-off locals.

"What the fuck are you doing? We have to get out of here, _right_ _now_!"

The kid's face was as white as chalk, and she didn't even seem to acknowledge me or what was happening around us. We were alone now in the pen; the slaves whose collars had been diffused had already made a run for it – and good for them. Hanging around now would only get you killed. I could see that the kid was trying desperately to unlock the explosive mechanism in the woman's collar, but the panic and the stress had obviously gotten to her, and she just couldn't make her magic work. The slave was clinging to her, sobbing and screaming and begging for her to help, and I think if I hadn't been there to pull her away, the kid would've happily stayed until they were both mown down by gunfire. But I wasn't going to let that happen, and as bad as I felt for that woman, the kid's life was the only thing that mattered right now. Grabbing her under the arm, I heaved her away from the desperate, clasping grasp of the woman, shoved her assault rifle into her hands, and pulled her along by the collar. She struggled against me with a surprisingly powerful force, but I didn't dare let her go.

"No, Charon-Charon-get the fuck off of me! No! We have to go back! I said I would help- _I have to help_!"

I'd never seen her so angry. Her cheeks were flushed now and looked like smears of red paint on a white wall. I could see the sweat beaded on her forehead as she struggled against my grip - it was hard to keep a hold of her; she wriggled like an eel and she looked damn near crazy. But she had bought my contract so that I could protect her, keep her safe. That was my overall objective, and it was exactly what I planned to do. I kept my grasp closed firmly on the back of her collar and pulled her with me towards the gate. It was going to make shooting my shotgun considerably difficult – my hope was that we could get out before any of the other Paradise Fallers got wise to what was happening.

Just then, though, a hail of bullets rained down on us from above; I looked up and saw a man standing in the window of the closest building with his rifle trained right on us. Right on cue, the cunt. I threw the kid down behind the shell of an old car, and dived down behind her. She made a muffled little sob as she landed face first in the dirt, but I didn't have enough time to check on her; I fired a few shots back in the direction of our attacker (although, I was near enough useless at this distance) before ducking back behind the car once more to assess the situation as best I could.

I was surprised to find a couple of the slaves we _had _managed to rescue – evidently, the smarter ones – hiding back there, too. The boy from before was one of them; he motioned to the rifle I had taken from the unlucky slaver who had found us mid-prisonbreak, and I nodded and handed it to him with all the ammo I had found. It was a little unnerving to watch him take the gun and grin like I'd just given him a goddamned Christmas present, but at least he seemed to know what he was doing. Only in the goddamned Wasteland can you find fucking sharpshoorters without hair on their balls. I gave another slave – a man who looked like he might've been in his share of gunfights in his time – the SMG I had taken off of the sentry I killed right at the start of this whole mess. The kid had forgotten to take the weapon from her man, but I don't suppose it mattered much now. We'd need more than a couple of extra weapons to get us all out in one piece.

Thoughts like that I pushed to the back of my head; I had a job to do, and I would do that job until I was incapacitated and unable to perform it any longer - that was just how I was made. Today, my job was saving the kid's ass. I turned to check on her, but she wasn't looking too good. Her gun lay on the floor, forgotten, and she sat slumped on the ground, her body shaking and her head in her hands. I knew this was difficult for her, but I didn't have the time to coddle her right now; I had to get her to snap out of it, quickly. The problem was, I didn't know how to go about it. Comfort had never been one of my strong points. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see one of the empty-handed slaves edging towards her weapon, and I instantly aimed my shotgun at him.

"Touch it, and you won't have to worry about those fucking slavers. _I'll_ blow you to bits."

"Fuck you, crater face. She doesn't need it now, her nerves are shot – she'll be no good with a gun. I doubt she'll even make it out of here alive."

This guy, whoever he was, was starting to piss me off. I guess I probably should have ignored him, but tension was running high and I wasn't prepared to put up with his shit after the kid and I had both risked our necks to help him. He made another movement towards the gun, and I flicked my shotgun around and clubbed him around the face with the butt of it; he went sailing into the dirt and landed with a satisfying crunch. It felt better than it probably should have.

It also had the duel advantage of bringing the kid out of her wholesale freak-out. Upon realising what I had done, she cried out in surprise and nearly stood up - thankfully, I shot out my hand just in time to grab her elbow and pulled her back into cover. More bullets pinged off of the car shell, and everyone ducked lower. I could hear the shouts of more angry residents who were being roused from their slumber. _Shit._ This was not the time for the kid to go crazy on me, but she apparently seemed to disagree.

"Let go of me, Charon! I have to go find the others, see if they're alright! Some of them had to have made it! I'm not just going to leave them behind!"

They were all dead – deep down, she knew it, but I suppose rationality is the first thing to go when fear sets in, and the kid _was_ afraid. Not of death, I don't think, but of letting everyone down. She began to struggle against me again – I don't know why, I don't even think _she_ knew why, because there was nowhere that she could go – until I reluctantly laid my shotgun down and grabbed her by both of her shoulders. I held her tightly and eventually she stopped fighting me. I could feel her whole body trembling.

"Kid, listen to me - listen! Calm down. There's no one left out there, you know that. It's just us. We have to work together to get out of here, or we'll all be in the shit."

I leaned my face in closely to hers to make her pay attention to what I was saying. The expression in her eyes was terrible; the hopelessness of the situation had brought her to the brink. She had wanted to help these people, and now half of them were dead; I wasn't stupid, I knew how hard this was going to be for her to get over. But right now, I needed her to think clearly. I needed her to survive.

"Come on, kid. Don't let this shit be the end of you. You're stronger than that. I know you are."

**Lone Wanderer**

I stared back into Charon's eyes and his sincerity, if anything, made me feel even worse. He trusted me, they had all trusted me, and just look at what I had done. Worse than that, perhaps, was my complete inability to cope with my failure: I was a wreck, my nerves were frayed, and I was ready to just lie down and give up. Every time I closed my eyes, I could see the tear-streaked face of that woman I had left behind. I could see the bloody corpses of the slaves who had been killed, their brains splattered across the dusty floor, their jawbones in pieces. Eyeballs, tongues, teeth, all jumbled together in a disgusting mess that stank of gore. I couldn't take it. I was a fucking disgrace. But I knew that Charon couldn't leave without me, and if I gave up, I would be condemning him to death – and he didn't deserve that. I nodded at him slowly and swallowed the lump in my throat. I had to just try to forget my despair, my feelings of uselessness and failure. For the remaining slaves. _For Charon_.

"Okay. _Okay_. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Let's just get out of here."

Relief flashed across the ghoul's face as he saw that I had finally come to my senses. He released me from his grip and I fell back down to my knees; my body was still trembling nearly uncontrollably, and all of a sudden I felt overwhelmingly tired. I took hold of my gun and held it with my shaky hands. As Charon risked the chance to look around the car at the amassing slaver forces, bullets flew through the air at us again. We were trapped. We were _doomed._

"Right. We can't fight our way out of here. We don't have enough manpower, we don't have enough ammo. We're not that far from the exit, though, and there's plenty of cover between us and that gate. If we get there, we can jam the gate mechanism and get the tits and ass out of here. Everyone who has a gun is going to have to have to provide covering fire. Got it?"

I was glad he was taking control. Ashamed as I was at my incapacity to handle what was happening, it was a relief, for once, to be told what to do. Charon seemed to anticipate this, and played his part wonderfully. I just wanted the whole fiasco to be over; I had started something this time that I simply wasn't strong enough to finish on my own. I couldn't focus; my head swam, my body felt weak, and for a horrifying few minutes I felt as though I might pass out. Too much, too fast, I suppose. Either way, I absolutely disgusted myself. As always, Charon seemed to sense that my thoughts were growing dark, and he interrupted my inner monologue before I had the chance to sink any lower.

"You with me, kid? Hang in there. You stay by my side and you don't do anything stupid, and we just might get out of here in one piece."

**Charon**

She gave me the strangest look, before nodding and taking a few deep breaths. The look in her eyes told me she was back in the real world again, I just didn't know if it was going to be a flying visit. I edged back to the front of the car; ahead of us by about fifteen or twenty feet was a pile of old sandbags. It was a fair enough distance to make, especially with all eyes trained on us, but it was our only shot. We had to move quickly, before those slaver assholes flanked us and started shooting at us from our exposed side. There were four of us with guns, and three without. This was going to be no walk in the park. I motioned to the boy behind me.

"Okay. We'll cross one by one, create the smallest target possible. Keep your head down and get across as fast as you can. You go first, but wait until they're distracted by our fire. Everyone else – don't waste your shots, we're not exactly rolling in ammo. Incapacitate as many of those SOBs as you can."

The boy nodded, and crawled around me to crouch at the front of the car. Now with a purpose, the kid seemed to pull herself together again. She had the lives of the surviving slaves to save, and it was apparently enough to carry her through. On the count of three, those of us with guns all let loose over the top of the car – and that oddball little boy scrambled across to the sandbags without even needing a signal. He got to the other side without so much as a scratch and it bolstered the rest of us. In quick succession the other slaves followed him, darting erratically while keeping close to the floor to make themselves as difficult to pinpoint as possible. Not that I had time to watch, of course – I shot, reloaded, shot again. Figures crumpled before me, but it still wasn't enough. When it was just me and the kid behind the car, she looked at me and whispered,

"Together."

And that's exactly how we did it. With covering fire coming from behind the sandbags, we let loose and ran to join the others, guns blazing. To her credit, the kid kept firing like a pro - to look at her, you might've thought she had been doing it for years. We both dived behind the sandbag wall, with bullets kicking up the dust at our feet. Fuck me, I was too old for this sort of shit now.

Hidden behind the sandbags, we only had to get to the gate, get it open, jam it shut and get out of here. Admittedly, it was going to be all the more difficult because there was hardly any cover, but the adrenaline was running high from our successes so far. I once again crawled to the edge of the wall to get a look at our destination – but before I had the chance to say anything, the kid beat me to the punch.

"I'll go. I'll go and open the gate mechanism. If it's just one of us alone, I'll be a more difficult target – you guys can cover me."

I didn't like it one bit. It left the kid exposed, and as soon as the slavers realised what she was up to, you better believe they'd all be taking pot shots at her. Nothing pissed those guys off like trying to steal their wares, especially when it was from right under their noses. Hell would have to freeze over before they would let us escape. But she was right – someone did need to open that mechanism, and one person would be easier to cover than a group of us. The kid shuffled on her knees until she was crouched beside me; she gave me a sideways glance, and she looked more together than she had all night. She had stopped shaking, and her gaze was resolute.

"Please, Charon. Let me do this."

**Lone Wanderer**

I could tell he didn't want me to go, but I had already made up my mind. I had the best head for machinery, anyway. Where another might fumble with the mechanism, I would instinctively know how to open the gate. I think Charon knew there would be no talking me out of it, because he grunted at me, and motioned to the other two with guns.

"Right. This isn't just cover fire this time around – they'll be aiming for her, and we better make sure we aim for them first. You take them out any way you think you can, just stop them from being able to shoot properly. No fucking about. On my mark."

I watched Charon and waited until he had given his signal. He seemed to wait for an unreasonable amount of time before opening fire; I don't know if it was just the adrenaline surging through my body, waiting eagerly to kick into action, or if Charon just wanted to postpone my incredibly risky undertaking for as long as possible. But fire he did, and as soon as the rattle hit my ears (which were near deafened by now, anyway) I sped out towards the gate. Bullets danced with my feet as I ran, plumes of dust spiralled up around me, but I kept my eyes on my destination. I dived for it from at least three feet away, until finally my hands came to rest on the small box at the gate's base - the key to all of our freedom. I flicked a switch to unlock the thing, and then pressed a small, oval button that began lifting the inner gate.

It was about then that I felt a stinging sensation ripple across my arm; I gasped sharply in surprise. A bullet had skimmed me, ripped my leather jacket, but caused no real damage. I would inspect it later – but I felt resoundingly blessed that this was my only injury, and as soon as I was able to, I squeezed under the gate and into the open, welcoming arms of the Wasteland. Crouching behind the wall and peering out, I called back through to alert the others of my success, and sure enough, before the words had even left my lips, that brash little boy barrelled through after me. I fired back at the figures silhouetted in windows and on balconies - we had taken out a surprising many of their number, which, I was sure, was solely down to Charon's efforts. I don't think any of us had expected to put up such a good fight with so few numbers and such a small amount of ammo.

One by one, and with caution now forgotten, the slaves we had managed to rescue ran through the gate and into their freedom. They scattered without a word, but I didn't blame them. So far, I had proved a terrible saviour. I hoped for the best for them in their new lives, and only wished I could apologise again for what I had put them all through. The problem was that now, the only cover Charon had to make his cross was little old me – and I was down to my last magazine. Charon looked at me and I looked back. With the slightest inclination of his head, he rushed for the gate, which was now completely open. I spread my fire wide, and beyond Charon I could see silhouettes jumping down to the ground to pursue us now that our numbers dwindled. It didn't matter, we were nearly safe - but _nearly _wasn't for certain.

To my horror, mere feet away from me, I saw Charon crumble. My body went cold, the pit of my stomach dropped out. I lost any sort of sense that was still left in me, tossed my gun to the ground, and threw myself back into Paradise Falls to help him. We were sitting ducks, I was sure we were going to die. Over the thunderous roar of the gunfire, I could hear Charon shouting at me – although what he said was lost in the din. Bullets seemed to hit every spot around us, but miraculously managed to miss us. Perhaps Fate was smiling on us, but I had the feeling that the slavers wanted to take us alive. After all, I'm sure they could have put us through things much worse than death.

I dragged Charon through the gate, mustering strength I never knew I had from God knows where, and the second that he was through, I grabbed his shotgun from his hand, and shot the winches that were holding the gate up. It crashed to the ground heavily, dividing us from our pursuers. We weren't safe yet, but it at least gave us relief from the constant bombardment of gunfire.

Immediately, my attention returned to Charon. He was on his side, and blood poured from his upper left leg. My breath ripped out of my lungs in fear and shock, and letting go of his shotgun, my hands fluttered to his wound. Unlike my father, though, I knew nothing about medicine. I couldn't tell how seriously hurt he was, and I once again let panic take hold of me.

"Ohgodohgodohgodohgod Charon! Charon, please don't die. _Please don't die!_"

"The only way I'm going to die is if we don't get up and get the fuck out of here! Now are you going to help me, or just sit there with your thumb up your butt?"

I had lost all of my courage again, but nonetheless I threw Charon's arm around my shoulders and together we somehow managed to stand. His body weighed heavily on me, and I could tell he was in a great amount of pain. He fell silent, and we remained as such as we staggered away from Paradise Falls and into the relative safety of the Wasteland. Several times I tried to stop to take a look at Charon's injury, but he wouldn't let me. He said it would be dangerous to stop so close to the scene of the crime, but the entire time we walked, I was afraid of losing him. We kept going until dawn began to break on the horizon, and throughout our slow and no-doubt painful journey, I prayed for Charon's safety under my breath. Faith in a Greater Power was something I had inherited from the mother I had never met, and I desperately hung on to the belief that there was something – anything – watching over us as we walked towards the sunrise. Behind us, we left a trail of blood.

Eventually, Charon grunted at me to indicate that we should stop. There was a large out-cropping of rock, and thankfully, after scouting it I found a small cave hidden from immediate view of the Wasteland. With much effort from both of us, I carried Charon over the rocks and into the cave. Despite the fact it was practically light outside, the cave was still pitch black. I turned on my Pip Boy light and propped Charon against a wall. He was incredibly weak, now, and obviously in unfathomable amounts of pain. For my part, I was exhausted from both my emotional and physical exertions. I didn't know what to do – I just know that I didn't want to lose Charon.

"Still with me?"

"Still here, kid. Can't leave you alone, not even for five minutes. You're too likely to go and act a horse's ass."

Now I had the difficult task of patching Charon up, and I had absolutely no idea where to begin. I was no doctor, not like Dad. He had always held an unquenchable fascination for people and how they worked – for me, it had been electronics, machines and computers. I hadn't taken the blindest bit of notice when Dad had tried to lecture me in the basics of medicine; in my innocence, I couldn't see a time when I would ever need it in the Vault. But now with Charon's stricken form in front of me, and without so much as an inkling as to what to do, I could have kicked myself. What was a recovery position? I'm sure I had heard that term before. And was I supposed to keep him talking, keep him conscious? What about veins and arteries – how was I supposed to stop the bleeding?

Personally, I had always thought the science of people a very imprecise art. Every now and then you would hear a story of a man who would fall 80 feet and survive, or of a woman who miraculously recovered from a fatal illness. Wires and codes and numbers weren't nearly as unpredictable. They were always the same, in every language and in every culture; I always knew where I stood with them. Not so with people. They made absolutely no sense to me. My father, I imagined, would have thought Charon and his ghoul counterparts an interesting medical and psychological study. Maybe they would meet someday – that was if my complete and utter idiocy hadn't killed Charon already. I shuffled on my knees until I sat next to him; his eyes were half closed, but he turned his head nonetheless and did his best to look alert.

"Let me take a look at you."

He grunted, and I took that as a sign that I could continue. My hands were bloodied as I skimmed them over Charon's sopping trouser leg, and I stared at them dolefully – they would, from now on, _always_ be covered in blood, no matter how many times I washed them. I had stolen the lives of the innocent and there was no sort of absolution for that kind of sin. Not for me, anyway. I could never forgive myself.

**Charon**

The kid pulled the knife out of her belt and sliced open the material of my pants to get a better look at the bullet wound. It hurt like a motherfucker, but I tried to keep my wincing to a minimum to stop from spooking her; as smart as she was, I got the feeling from her tentative handling of my leg and the look of pure horror on her face that she didn't really know what she was doing. She'd never say so, of course, but she still hadn't got a handle on her face, and I could read her like a fucking book.

I bent my head slightly to take a look at the damage – I know I had been hit in the back of the leg, and I could see an exit wound on the top of my thigh. Well, _shit_. What a fucking mess this was. Blood was still seeping from the wound, and I watched through squinted eyes as the kid removed her jacket and took off her shirt. Gently she lifted my leg, watching me the whole time as if I was going to bite her head off for causing me pain. She was half right – I _was_ in agony, but I was focussing all my energy on _not_ tearing her a new one. Shouting now wouldn't help a damn thing. As the pain heightened, though, it was growing more and more difficult to remain calm.

She wrapped the shirt around my leg, pulled it taut and knotted it. It stung and I clenched my teeth to stop myself from crying out. The pressure felt reassuring, though - at least I wasn't going to bleed to death any time soon. I could see the goosebumps erupt on her skin as she leaned over me, and suddenly became distinctly aware of how cold it was – and, curiously, of the fact that this was the most I had seen of the kid's naked flesh. It reminded me for a split second of that moment together before we had tried to assault Paradise Falls; I suppose it was the shock setting in, doing all sorts of crazy shit to my brain. This day was just getting better and better.

The kid placed her right hand on my leg, above the wound and just below my groin, positioned her other hand on top of it and pressed down hard. I think she was trying to stem the bloodflow, and I if I hadn't been in mind-numbing, agonising torture, I think might've quite enjoyed the hands of a nubile, young woman being in that particular position. Unfortunately, I _was_ in pain, and this last action on her part was the final straw. It just simply hurt too much. I let out an almost primal growl that sounded angrier than I intended, and lost the self-control I had been trying so hard to maintain.

"_Fucking hell!_ Are you actually trying to finish me off? _Is that it?_ It wasn't sufficient that you were stupid enough to nearly get us both killed, now you've decided to embark on a new career as a professional fucking torturer! _Shit!_"

The second that my pain-induced rage had erupted and I saw the hurt on her face, I instantly regretted it. The kid's eyes widened, clearly shocked at my outburst, and then all I could do was watch, panting, as her whole face, her whole posture, crumbled. She, like me, had obviously only just been managing to keep it together, and now faced with my furious criticism, she couldn't hold on to her composure any longer. She lowered her face to the floor, and although I could tell she was trying to hide it, I could see she had begun to cry.

Oh, fuck. I hadn't meant to upset her – I had been trying to avoid just this situation. Don't get me wrong, I _was_ angry at her, but I really shouldn't have been. She didn't know any better. It was like getting mad your pack brahmin for getting itself chewed on by a fucking Radscorpion. Absolutely pointless. She had thought she was doing the right thing - it wasn't her fault that she knew less about the world around her than a newborn baby. The only way she was going to learn was by experience. But now she was bawling, because of me, and I wouldn't have known what to do with a clear head, let alone half-crazed with pain. I sighed, rested my head back against the cold stone, and said quietly,

"Kid, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

She didn't look up at me when she spoke, and her voice was quiet and humbled. It was heart-achingly endearing that despite the fact I had just mercilessly ripped into her, and despite the fact she was clearly miserable, she maintained the pressure on my leg. Still trying to save the day, even now. That pretty much summed the kid up right there.

"You did mean it, and it's completely true. I'm a fucking idiot! _I_ got us into this, and it was _my_ fault that all of those slaves were killed, and _I _got you shot, and now _I _can't help you! I can't even take the pain away! I just make it worse. I-don't-know-what-I'm-doing. With _anything_."

The kid usually spoke quickly – especially when she was excited – but this was hyperspeed, and interspersed with trembling sobs. It was difficult to understand what the hell she was saying. What I could understand completely, though, without having to hear her say it, was that she blamed herself for everything that had happened. Not surprising, really. I knew as soon as things went tits up back in the slave pen that she was going to take it badly. She had been foolish, and she had been naïve, but everyone makes mistakes, and if anyone deserved another chance, it was the kid. This wasn't her fault - not really. She had just tried to be good in a world where the word simply didn't exist.

"I know what you're thinking in that over-active little brain of yours. _Don't_."

"But-,"

"But nothing. This wasn't your fault. You got silly and you got over-confident, but inevitably, it just came down to bad luck. It's like I've been trying to tell you – sometimes, bad shit just happens and that's all there is to it. That's what life is out here, kid. And I bet those slaves you _did_ save won't ever forget you. That was a remarkable thing you did for them. Now how about you stop sulking and see to your ailing patient?"

**Lone Wanderer**

I had never felt guilt like that before. It was all-encompassing; it made my head swim and my stomach churn. I just couldn't understand how it had all gone so wrong - the good guys were _supposed_ to win, right? Weren't we the good guys? I fucked up bad, Charon knew it and so did I. I deserved his resentment. I simply wasn't tough enough to handle it out here in the Wastes. Let the Overseer lock me up or shoot me in the head or whatever he wanted to do with me. I was just a silly little girl, a _coward and a failure_, with no chance at finding Dad. I didn't _deserve_ to find him.

My hands remained firmly pressed down on Charon's leg, but sobs wracked my body. It must have hurt Charon, but if it did, he said nothing. I could feel him tense under me, uncomfortable, but try as I might, I just couldn't stop the tears. Self-pity is a powerful emotion to shake off, and I was fully entangled in its cloying hold. I felt like a little kid again – and at that moment, with my hands stashed down the trousers of this strange man, and the blood of innocent people spattered across my clothes, I just wanted Dad to show up and give me a hug. Charon would have to be my substitute, and to my utter surprise, he fulfilled his role unexpectedly well.

With a grunt of pain or exasperation, he leaned forward from the wall and cupped the side of my head gently. He tilted my face up to his and caught my gaze; even with his devastated eyes, Charon possessed an intense, enthralling stare. It was difficult to see him through my tears, and as both of my hands were occupied with his leg, I couldn't wipe them away. With his coarse, rough thumb he wiped the tears from my eyelashes and my cheeks, until I was able to focus on him properly. His expression was almost apologetic, but those strange milky-white eyes of his seemed to look straight through me.

.

"You saved me. I mean, obviously not today because I've got a fucking _hole_ through my leg. But back there, in Underworld. I fucking hated my life working for Ahzrukhal. It was hell, kid. But not anymore. I feel like my old self again. And _you_ did that."

I swallowed, hard. It was difficult hearing my praises when I felt so ashamed of myself. Usually, I would have lapped it up – especially as compliments from Charon were so sparse. But right now, I just wanted to find a conveniently placed hole and crawl right into it. But his attempt at comfort was appreciated, especially because I knew how hard he found talking about his emotions, and I felt engulfed with gratitude not just for this, but for everything Charon had done for me so far. He spoke again, while I was lost for words and before I could think of what to say.

"And you know what else?"

"What?" My voice, when I spoke, was shaky and wet. Charon might have forgiven me, but I was a long way off that yet.

"You look like total shit when you cry. Your eyes puff up and you look like a goddamned bloatfly. Now get to patching me up, like my good girl."

I laughed – a strange little noise that sounded like a cross between a sob and a cough – and I accidentally moved the position of my hands on Charon's leg, He winced in pain, and I apologised profusely. That just pretty much summed this whole debacle up – in trying to help, I just caused more harm. And yet Charon was still able to forgive me, still so patient despite by stubbornness and refusal to listen to reason. I was lucky to have him on my side. Emotion surged through me, but I just couldn't put into words how I was feeling – strange really, seeing as talking was generally all I seemed able to do properly. I slid Charon's hand off my cheek and held it on my own, moving my teary face closer to his as I did so. He looked awkward, but I couldn't tell if it was because of the pain he was in or because of my deliberate closeness.

"Charon. I - uh - thank you. I just want to say - ever since I left the Vault, I've felt like I just don't belong out here. It's just so different, so _big_, so _lonely_. But I'm glad I found you that day in Underworld, too. I just – I just wanted to say-,"

"What do we have here, huh?"

We both jumped, and Charon grabbed his gun on reflex. There was a figure at the mouth of cave, outlined by the sun behind it. Charon grimaced and raised his shotgun, but all of a sudden, his expression changed, and if I hadn't witnessed it myself, I never would have believed it. Through the pain, Charon smiled.

"Cecelia!"


	8. Three's A Crowd

**Lone Wanderer**

So there I was, with my hands covered in blood and dangerously close to Charon's wedding tackle, and my face blotchy and covered in tears and snot from my melt down. I was not in the best position to receive company, but Charon didn't seem to care, and neither did our guest. Her voice had been almost as deep and as hoarse as Charon's, so I had known from the outset – even when she was still in silhouette – that our visitor was a ghoul. But it wasn't until she stepped through the mouth of the cave that I could actually make out what she looked like.

Unpleasant. Alright, that might sound a little cruel, but I did say that ghouls have always sort of given me the willies. Cecelia, like Charon when I first met him, was no different. She was tall, willowy, and had obviously once upon a time been blonde – although now only strands of wispy, fragile white hair framed her face. She was standard fare for ghouls – ravaged skin, milky eyes, but she just had a _look_. Like she didn't give a damn what the world thought about her, because she thought exactly the same about the world. It was the same sort of attitude that I admired in Charon, and so I had to wonder why I felt so intimidated by the newcomer. Perhaps because she had caught me at my most vulnerable, witness to a side of myself that I didn't particularly enjoy being on display for the whole goddamned population of the Capital Wasteland. It put us on bad footing right from the outset, and it only went downhill from there.

"Shit, C! Where the fuck did you come from?"

I looked at my bodyguard, who was sitting forward from the wall with a look of delighted surprise plastered across his irregular features; it was almost disturbing to see him like that. Well, this was a turn up for the books. After everything I'd tried to do for the sod (barring the recent and unfortunate shooting incident, of course) he never seemed that happy to see _me_. For my part, I hadn't a clue what was going on; Charon obviously knew this intruder, and was evidently on good terms with her (he had lowered his shotgun – which was about as friendly as Charon got), and so as she was friend rather than foe, I tried to wipe my face on my shoulder to make myself more presentable, but neither of the two ghouls seemed to pay me any mind, anyway.

"Where'd you _think_ I came from - outer space? The fucking Wastes! I heard the commotion over at Paradise Falls from miles away, and came to see what was cooking."

"But how did you find us?"

"Maybe it's because I'm the best damn tracker this side of the Potomac. Or maybe it's because you left a bright, red, come-and-find-me trail of blood behind you."

Charon all of a sudden seemed to remember that he was in dire amounts of pain and sat back with a grunt; I knew that he was hurting, but I couldn't help but wonder if he was exaggerating ever so slightly for the benefit of our guest. My hands remained where they were, but I realised that my arms were beginning to ache from the pressure I was still applying to his leg, and I began to fidget. Cecelia obviously noticed, tilted her head to one side and stare at the scene in front of her; apparently, she found it amusing, and I felt absurdly self-conscious. _I_ felt self conscious. In the presence of two _ghouls_. Just the idea was ludicrous.

With a snort of laughter, Cecelia threw her rucksack to the floor beside her, and knelt down on one knee to root through it. I watched her, speechless, but she didn't seem to feel the need to acknowledge me. Maybe that was part of the reason I was speechless in the first place – that, and the fact my head was still reeling from what had happened to us; things didn't slow down for a _second_ out here in the Wastes. With her head bowed, the woman began to talk again.

"Hoo boy, you've got yourselves into a right mess. Heard about what happened over at the Falls – those slavers are ravenous for your blood. There's a bounty out on you already. You _and_ the blood-spattered smoothskin here. So what's the deal? Your brain fell out your ear since we last met?"

She didn't look up as she spoke, but was slowly removing what appeared to be medical supplies from her bag. I was grateful, really – it looked as though Cecelia might actually know what she was doing. She would have Charon fighting fit in no time, I was sure, so I don't know why part of me wanted to tell her to get lost and mind her own damn business. I guess it was because I didn't much like being spoken about as though I wasn't even present - but I heard Charon clear his throat, and realised that he was of course about to introduce me and teach this Cecelia some manners.

"Had nothing to do with me, C. It was all down to The Brain here. She's got my contract these days, only she hasn't got a clue what to do with me."

Had I suddenly become invisible? Had the distress and trauma of what had just happened at the slaver camp somehow rendered me transparent? It pissing well seemed that way, judging from the conversation going on around me. I was angry, but irritatingly too angry to talk. Instead I sat there, looking a mess with my mouth gormless and agape, in stunned outrage.

"So, who're you girl?"

Finally! Although the way she used the term 'girl' to address me made me sound so _diminutive_. I mean, Charon called me 'the kid' all the time, but that was a term of endearment. _Wasn't it?_ Still, I figured that seeing as I had been a big blubbering mess not five minutes ago, perhaps a simple, anonymous _girl _suited me best at this juncture in time. I let it slide, and closed my mouth to prepare a suitably witty response. Unfortunately, Charon answered on my behalf.

"Old misery guts here? That's the kid."

Oh, that was charming. He finally remembered I was there, did he? I'd only been trying to stop him from bleeding to death the whole bloody time. I sat with my back straight, and despite my bleary eyes and snot-stained nose, I tried to look dignified. I really didn't feel up to introductions right now – my body still ached, and my heart and soul were still heavy - but Dad had always taught me to be polite, unlike _some_.

"Actually, my given name is-,"

"Angelface." Cecelia was looking directly at me, with a funny sort of grin that I didn't like one bit.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Angelface. Sure! I've seen your type before, too many times to count, and I can't think of a better name for you."

I didn't like the way she said that. _Angelface_. Like I was someone very simple who needed to be spoken to very slowly and very loudly. Like I was some dumb little kid who broke down and started to cry when her plans went awry. Completely unwarranted. Completely. Right. Christ, maybe I was being too hard on Cecelia. Maybe it was all in my head. It had been a long day, after all.

"Well, no, actually, my given name is-"

"I already told you, she goes by "the kid", C. Suits her better than Angelface. Angels don't snore nearly as loud as she does."

They both laughed, but Charon stopped when I _accidentally _doubled the pressure I was putting on his leg. He winced and Cecelia shuffled forward on her knees to where we were sitting, her medical paraphernalia clasped tightly in her hands. The glint of a nasty looking syringe was enough to make me recoil, but I think she thought I was recoiling from _her_. It didn't seem to bother the woman, but I felt the urge to apologise nonetheless. I hated making anyone feel bad about themselves – which begged the question why I spent so much of my time around a man who adored doing it to me.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, _Angelface_, but it's lucky I showed up when I did. You've made a right mess here, hey? Budge over and let me take a look at him."

I obeyed without a word; my arms were grateful that they could finally relax and I was anxious to wash the blood off, but I couldn't help but feel… useless. Inadequate. That was it. Inadequate After the fiasco at Paradise Falls, this was all I needed, to be put in my place by what was effectively a walking, talking corpse – not that I'd say that out loud in front of present company. I sat on my heels next to them, like some sort of dejected little stray dog, and tried to figure out why I was constantly falling short of the mark out here, when I'd been doing so well back in the vault. Surely they weren't _that_ different – the ceiling was just a bit higher out here and the people a bit more uncouth. So why was I floundering?

"There's some rations on my pack brahmin outside. Her name's Buttercup. She's a doll. Just don't hang around behind her – she gets a bit nasty around strangers. Help yourself to anything you find. And you might as well bring something in for your wounded partner in crime, here. I bet you guys are famished."

I felt so out-of-sorts. I hadn't had any time to stop and take stock of things – to analyse, at length, what had gone wrong in the slave pen, whether I could have done anything to stop Charon getting hurt, whether I could have prevented things going so badly by just using my common sense, whether I really _did _look like a bloatfly when I cried. Everything had happened so fast – and now out of the blue there was this _super_woman, Queen of the Wasteland, with medical supplies coming out of her jacksie and her own brahmin. Called Buttercup. All I had was a Pip Boy and a pocketful of old Sugar Bombs that were starting to go furry with mould.

I didn't know _what_ I was doing in the grand scheme of things, but I did know that I was hungry, so I decided to take her up on her offer. By the time I left the cave, Cecelia had shifted her bag under Charon's leg so that it was suspended in the air, and was removing my now sopping shirt; I looked down at my thin vest and goose-pimpled skin, and decided I was better off being cold than trying to salvage it. Blood was a bastard to clean, and I always had my jacket, anyway. The sun stung my eyes when I emerged into the daylight.

Buttercup was a belligerent old thing who watched me with contemptuous beady eyes as I rooted through the numerous satchels and pockets tied to its body. I think I must have been personifying the creature far too much, but I swear to God that thing waited until I had reached the compartment on its rump before deciding to let out an almighty fart. The smell was horrendous. I held my nose, grabbed the few rations and water flask I had found, and made a hasty retreat back into the cave. Buttercup may have won that round, but I was sure there were plenty Deathclaws out there that would be happy to help me settle the score.

When I stepped back into the cave, Cecelia was pouring something oozey and toxic-looking on to Charon's leg from a battered old thermos. I raised my chin to get a better look, but when I moved closer to them, Charon held out a hand to halt my progress.

"Hold your horses there, kid. This is toxic waste – I can't imagine it'd be very good for that peachy complexion of yours. Better keep your distance."

"Why are you-"

"Irradiating Charon? Because, my dear, radiation has all sorts of handy little uses now that we're lucky enough to be ghouls – restorative power is just one of them."

"_Really?_" Wait, that sounded far too interested in what she had to say. Back track. Start again. "Neat, I guess. I'll just go sit over here, then, with this molerat jerky and utilise _its_ restorative power."

I was happy to stay well clear - as a vault dweller, I found that I was extra susceptible to radiation. It had been difficult at first – after emerging into the Wasteland for the first time, I often felt sick, and my skin always felt tight and uncomfortable. But the (visible, anyway) effects of the world's background radiation on my health were lessening now, for sure, and the only thing I really had to worry about was being too close to Charon. Sometimes, I swear, just being _near _him made my skin tingle.

I washed my bloody hands with the water flask and sat down to my lunch. The molerat was not delicious, and I could but hope it was at least nutritious. I was leaning against the cool cave wall as I watched Cecelia fuss over Charon, and I did my level best to feign disinterest. The cave was cold and uncomfortable, but my body was growing lethargic and it was an effort just to raise the jerky to my lips. _What a night_. I seemed to have come so far from Underworld – not just in distance, but in experience and knowledge, and _purpose_. All I had wanted to do was find Dad. And now where was I? On a wild goose chase to save the world. I guess I was just lost, like everyone else in the Wasteland, trying desperately to cling on to direction, any sort of foundation. I didn't want to be washed away.

I was so deep in thought and dulled by exhaustion that I didn't notice, at first, when Cecelia had finished attending to Charon. She was packing up her medical supplies and looking at me funny, and it put me on the defensive automatically. She nodded in my direction.

"What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with _you_?"

Her eyebrows – or what was left of them, anyway – furrowed, but her lips were still smiling. I stiffened, tense, but tried to look nonchalant. I don't know why I was so on edge all of a sudden.

"No, I mean, with your arm. You're bleeding."

"Oh. Oh, yeah. I got shot. It's nothing, doesn't even hurt."

That was a lie. Now that she had brought it up, and now that all the adrenaline had left my body, my arm did hurt. It _really_ hurt. But I didn't want to look, well, like a giant wuss, considering Charon had a _hole _through his leg. I stared the graze on my shoulder; it was smeared with blood and grit and all of a sudden began to throb.

"Right. Well, do you want me to take a look at it?"

"No."

"Are you sure? You don't want it to get infected and fall off."

I couldn't tell if she was joking. I mean, I thought it _sounded_ improbable – it really was just a scratch – but Cecelia was clearly more worldly than me, and I didn't want to run the risk of losing an appendage. I would be doubly useless. After a moment's hesitation, I shuffled over to her and held out my arm. She laughed, and I had to resist the urge to elbow her right in her smug face.

As she cleaned my wound, and I pretended that it didn't hurt, I tried to figure out why I was feeling so defensive. I put it down to the fact that I had just been through a most traumatic experience, and she had caught me off guard, seen me exposed and defenceless. It really wasn't her fault, but I just didn't _like_ the woman – although she had done nothing to deserve my scorn. In fact, she was really quite entertaining. My body and mind were tired and confused and guilt-wracked, and so of course I was going to be over-sensitive to every little thing. But still, she didn't seem to wrap that gauze around my arm _half_ as gently as she did around Charon's leg. Perhaps _that_ was my problem. Perhaps I had just grown accustomed to being the centre of attention, and now my position had been usurped, and I was nothing more than a barely adequate side-kick in my own badly drawn comic book.

"There, all done. You were very brave. Now, if you two want to get some much deserved sleep, I'll keep watch."

I looked meaningfully over to Charon, and he looked back, nonplussed. I tried to tell him, through motion, that we couldn't trust this intruder. She might rob us blind while we slept and slit our throats. Surely _he_ would recognise that - he was the most suspicious, world-weary person I knew, although, granted, I exactly didn't know a lot of people. Unfortunately, he didn't seem to understand my wild gesticulating, and instead shrugged his shoulders at me in that annoying way he always did when he thought I was acting up.

"Are you feeling alright, kid?"

I decided to just come out and say it. When it came to survival, one had to be brutal – and if that meant hurting someone's feelings, then so be it. No more mincing my words. I had to be tough, I had to be ruthless, I had to be honest.

"I'm awfully sorry – and I don't mean to cast any aspersions on your character, Cecelia – but, and I really am sorry to say this – but are you sure we can trust her, Charon?"

He started to laugh. I hated when Charon laughed at me. Something about that deep, destroyed rattle of his just always smacked of mockery. Not laughing with me, but _at _me. Right at me. Up close and in my face.

"Kid, go to sleep."

I scrunched up my nose at him in irritation, grabbed my jacket, and curled up in the corner. After all, I was just doing what he had taught me to – staying alert, not trusting a soul. I didn't see what was so bloody hilarious about it. Still, by the time my head hit the ground, I didn't care anymore. I was absolutely, wholly and completely, mind-numbingly exhausted. That was why I was acting so strangely - it _had_ to be. I just needed to close my eyes and sleep. Rest my frazzled brain, give it a chance to recover from everything that had happened. I had thought sleep might prove difficult – the things I had seen were so very vivid in my mind still. As it turned out, though, fatigue consumed me and I was unconscious before I even realised what had happened.

My dreams weren't nearly as forgiving, though. They were, unsurprisingly, filled with blood and screams and gunfire. It was one of those strange sorts of lucid nightmares, in which I knew that I was asleep and yet could do nothing to stop what was happening. I saw that woman again, with the little rivulets of clear skin streaked down her dirty cheeks from the tears she had shed. I saw the terror in her eyes and I saw the blood all around us, and the thunderous clattering of the gunfire rung in my ears. And then I saw my father, melancholy, disappointed, and _cold_. He turned his back on me and the filthy Wasteland creature I had become. I'd never seen him look so cruel.

I woke up with a start, clammy and uncomfortable from sweating. The cave was dark and quiet, with Cecelia nowhere to be seen, and Charon's reclining form rocking ever-so gently with his breathing. I had apparently slept throughout the entire day – my body felt renewed, but there was still that heavy weight in the pit of my stomach, letting me know that it all had, horrifically, really happened. And to top it off, I felt no more accommodating towards Cecelia, either.

**Charon**

"Charon? Charon? Can you hear me? Charon? Are you awake?"

"No."

"Yeah, I'm awake too. I had an awful dream."

"Not your usual sunbeams and lollipops, then?"

"Fuck you. I'm not a goddamn kid, so stop treating me like one."

What had crawled up the kid's butt, I hadn't a clue, but judging from the mood she was apparently still in, it hadn't just crawled up there but made a fucking nest. It was obvious it had something to do with our botched rescue mission – I could tell the last thing she needed right now was someone like Cecelia showing up. _Cecelia_, who like a cat, always landed on her feet. Apart from the whole ghoulification, thing, of course – but then, she'd even turned that to her advantage, scavving places that smoothskins didn't dare go because of ferals and radiation levels. That woman was a wonder.

Now, the kid, I had so far learned, was competitive by nature, used to getting her own way. Used to being a real know-it-all, told-you-so smartass. I suppose in light of the biggest failure she had experienced in her short life, meeting a woman like Cecelia was just rubbing salt into the wound. Part of me felt sorry for her, but I had to admit, it was fucking funny to watch. She would get over it soon enough – this was all part of the learning process. When life knocks you down, you have to jump right back up again, swinging and kicking, and make sure you're not knocked down again. And besides, it was a Godsend that Cecelia had shown up when she did, with her food and her medical supplies. Maybe Lady Luck finally _was_ cutting us a break.

"Where's your friend?"

"Keeping watch outside."

Satisfied that Cecelia was out of earshot, the kid pulled her jacket closer around her shoulders and scooted over to me. It was as obvious as a slap in the face that the kid hadn't exactly taken to my old Underworld acquaintance, which I again put down to the fact that Cecelia had blustered in and saved the day, on the tail end of the kid's terrible defeat. She hadn't exactly said anything to that end, but she didn't _need_ to – it was written all over her face.

"So, how do you two know each other, then?"

She was fiddling with the buttons of her jacket and looking incredibly humble, and it struck me then just how _young _she was. I hadn't asked her exact age, but _what_ – she couldn't be much past twenty-one, if out of her teens at all. I really should have cut her some slack. Living all of your life in a vault and then coming out into _this_. It took balls, especially when she hadn't even been out of diapers for five minutes. I'd had to try and remember that the next time I felt like teasing her - but she was just so shitting _easy_.

"From Underworld, where else? Must be three years since we last saw each other now? She never stayed long – loves the Wasteland too much, that one – but when she did, I always made her feel right at home, Ahzrukhal permitting."

I don't know why I said it, especially after I had not thirty seconds ago decided to cut her a break. I think I just enjoyed baiting the kid, because I was sure to get a rise out of her. I guess I thought it might help her forget, and get her back to her old self again, too, because the kid was plenty capable of giving as good as she got. The past was the past, and she had to start looking to the future again. To finding her father, and _yes_, to helping me find Salvatore, whether I wanted to or not. Predictably, the kid looked at me sidelong, distrust and just a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. I'd have to help her kick that nasty innocence habit. There was only so much of it I could stomach while still sober.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What the fuck do you think it means? That we had a sleep over and braided each other's hair?"

She hugged herself a bit more tightly, and her lips pinched together, troubled. I could literally see her working through what I had said in that snow-white, cherubic little brain of hers – the cogs were turning but there were clearly a few important springs missing - and it was almost painful to watch. And entirely too much fun. Fuck me, I was on my way to hell, alright. Still, can't have been much worse than DC.

"You mean you- well, you- when you were back in Underworld, you and Cecelia, you-,"

"Fucked. Go on, you can say it. It won't hurt."

I leaned back against the wall and laced my fingers over my stomach. I wasn't sure exactly why I was curious about her reaction, but I watched her intently, my face expressionless - although it was difficult to hide my grin. Luckily, I was well practiced, and I gave nothing away. Her sheer inability to handle sex entertained me to no end, because it just made no sense. She was smart enough - a scientist herself _and_ her father was a doctor, for Christ's sake. It didn't add up that she was so bashful around what was, scientifically speaking, just procreation. Well, for humans, anyway. For ghouls it was just a way of forgetting how fucked up lives our lives were for a little while.

Slowly, the kid scrunched up her face the way she always did when she wholeheartedly disagreed with something, although as usual, I doubted very much she knew that her face was illustrating every single thought and emotion that passed through her mind. She still had no control over it. She also hadn't learned to control her mouth, either, because before she knew what she was saying, she let it slip.

"Well, that's just disgusting."

She looked up, horrified by what she had said and instantly apologetic, but it didn't make a difference. The fact was, she _had_ said it, and she couldn't take it back. There she was, with her holier-than-thou attitude and her 'everyone is equal' bullshit, and surprise _surprise_ she felt exactly the same way every other asswipe, bigoted smoothskin did. I don't mind admitting it took me by surprise – as corny as it sounded, _I hadn't expected it from her_. She'd just given that impression, like she didn't _just_ see my rotten skin or the sinews of my muscles. Like she actually saw me as a person, and not a brain-munching zombie. Perhaps she was better at hiding her true emotions than I gave her credit for. I guess I couldn't blame her, anyway; I disgusted myself.

And still, something about the way she had said it – nauseated, almost – really pushed my button. I was suddenly really fucking angry, more than I rationally should have been. I don't know why it had hit me so hard. I'd been called worse, before – I'd heard every name under the sun in my time. But coming from her, _fuck_. I actually felt wounded, which just made things worse. I was angry at her and I was even angrier at myself for getting so worked up about it.

"Disgusting?"

"No, Charon, no - I didn't mean it like _that_!"

"Then how did you mean it?"

"Well, it's just that – you, and her, together - but I don't mean – no, I don't think _you're_ disgusting, I just meant – you know, the act in itself..."

"I _know _what you meant. Fucking smoothskins. You're as bad as the rest of them. Just because we don't look human anymore, doesn't mean we don't have all the same urges you fuckers do."

She didn't have anything to say in response. She just sort of sat there, with that stupid hangdog expression of hers and her eyes wide and aghast at her unintentional bluntness. I shouldn't have let it bug me so much – I was over-reacting, blowing it all up and out of proportion. I knew this, and still I couldn't help it. Where the fuck did she get off thinking like that? She'd only been out of the vault five minutes. Awful high and mighty of her considering she had nearly shit her pants back there in Paradise Falls. Lucky I'd been there to save her ungrateful little ass.

I stared at her, unforgiving. It was something I had developed a knack for – staring people down, motionless and unyielding, until they finally cracked completely. I was waiting for some sort of answer from her that would make me feel less agitated, although I knew it would never come. She just sat there, her brown eyes full of meaning and oh-so contrite, and her mouth slightly open. _Jesus._

"Just forget it."

"No – I'm sorry, Charon, I really am. I'm just an idiot, is all. I didn't mean to make you feel bad."

"You didn't."

"Well, it sort of sounds that way to me."

"Please, kid. I've heard worse blown out of a brahmin's backside."

"Funny you should mention that – actually, nevermind."

She fell silent again, and looked around herself at the empty cave. There was a heavy sort of uneasiness that hung in the air around us – I could practically see the kid squirming. Me, I thrived in this sort of environment, but the kid always wanted everything to be so peachy and, most importantly, uncomplicated. I could tell this was driving her nuts. She pushed a hand through her hair and shrugged at me,

"So, like, she was your _ghoul_friend, then?"

The joke was so bad that I could've cried, but fair play to the kid for trying to lighten the mood. Trying, and failing. I wasn't about to let her off the hook yet, and I stared at her unimpressed. She physically shrunk away from my unforgiving stare, but before she could go and put her foot in her mouth again and insult my mother's chastity or something, Cecelia interrupted us, bustling into the cave without a care. She seemed to be pretty good at that.

"You're looking a lot better, Charon. Seems like C's Irradiated Homebrew did the trick, huh?"

I grunted an acknowledgement at her, almost as unfriendly as the kid had been earlier. I wasn't in the mood for conversation. I liked Cecelia – we'd always got on well, on every level – but now I just wanted her to say her goodbyes and get the hell out of here, to leave me and the kid in our awkward silence. I was betting the kid would snap before I did – she just couldn't handle quiet at all – and then, well. I didn't know what. I think I just wanted some sort of petty revenge for everything she had put me through the last couple of days,

"So, anyway, it's night. Best time to move through the Wastes, if you ask me. We should probably get going right away."

"_We_?", the kid and I chorused together. Apparently, now we were on the same page.


	9. Oh Cecelia! You're Breaking My Heart!

**Lone Wanderer**

This was all Charon's fault. He'd encouraged her. If he had just told her to get lost as soon as she had turned up, we wouldn't have had this problem. _I _could have brought him to some nuclear waste if he had just _told _me that was all I needed to do to help him. What a surprise he decided to play the wounded soldier routine. What was it about him and nihilism? And he said _I _needed to grow up. Now we were stuck with an unwanted guest, and I was starting to think that by the time I found Dad, I would have half the bloody Wasteland following me around. _Surprise, Pop! Our touching reunion has an audience! Smile big and wide now! _I stood up, and shook the sleep from my aching joints – and they _were_ aching. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been so sore, apart from perhaps when Butch and his cronies had decided to hang me upside down by my belt loops on the coat hooks in the supply room when I was twelve, and I hadn't been discovered by a friendly face until twenty minutes afterwards. All I'd done was point out the errors in his math homework. But I withstood that, and I was going to withstand this, too; _I _was leading this – this – expedition, and I wasn't going to be told what to do by an interloping Wastelander.

"I'm awfully sorry, Cecelia, we just don't have room for you. Where we're going requires stealth and cunning, and, um..."

"And a good knowledge of the Wastes."

"Well, yes, of course."

"Which I just so happen to have."

"That's irrelevant, because if there are too many of us, we'll lose the advantage of surprise."

"Like you had at Paradise Falls?"

Ouch. That stung. The wound was still very much open, and she hadn't so much as rubbed salt into it as got a piece of sandpaper and repeatedly raked it over the bloody, raw cut. I lowered my face, momentarily silenced, as I considered the risk of what had happened back at the slaver camp happening _again_ with Salvatore. This time, Charon might not be so lucky – and I couldn't bear that thought, just as much for myself as for Charon's welfare. I didn't think I'd be able to survive it; I simply wasn't strong enough. It wasn't easy being a habitual coward.

"Hey, C. Not necessary," Charon had eased himself up off the floor and was stood, perhaps a little shakily but with his familiar doggedness back in place again, by my side. It felt reassuring to have him there once more, like my very own avenging angel, and he was clearly registering his allegiance to me. Take _that_, Cecelia. I punted the ball back to her.

"I've learned from my mistakes, thank you very much, and it won't happen again." I said it with conviction, although I could see from Charon's expression, he didn't necessarily believe this – and if I was honest, neither did I.

"Look, I'm just trying to show you that you could do with my help, is all. It's tough out there, you know, and heaven forbid you end up like Charon or me because of it, Angelface."

Was I being unreasonable? It was starting to sound that way. I just couldn't stop feeling so out of the loop. Before Paradise Falls, I had at least been sure of myself, of my grand plan. Now I didn't know what I was doing – or if I was even the right person to be doing it. I should have been clutching at all the help I could get, not irrationally dismissing it without reason. I looked at Cecelia, who stood in front of me with an earnest expression on her face and her hands spread apart in a diplomatic gesture. _Let's make peace_, it said, and I had no choice but to accept her offer.

"Fine, fine, fine, let's just get going – alright? I'm sick of hanging about. We're wasting time. I'm a busy woman and the world waits for no one."

Charon looked surprised at my decision, but said nothing to contradict it. I was silently disappointed – I had been hoping he would refuse to allow Cecelia to accompany us, and thereby save me from having to agree to something I didn't want to do, for the sake of keeping up appearances. I was just sick and tired of looking so petty; if Paradise Falls had taught me anything, it was that things weren't always going to go my way.

I was gracious in defeat. Well, mostly. I only tried to trip Cecelia once on the journey out of the cave – tactfully blaming it on a jutting rock that came out of nowhere - and despite my best attempts to spook Buttercup, she didn't run away, so that didn't really count. The cool, crisp air of the evening was refreshing, at least. Cecelia had assured me nightfall was the safest time to travel, especially now we were wanted fugitives, but night in the Wastes was absolutely terrifying – although, as I seemed to be the only one who was scared, I decided not to say anything. I had only just got used to the landscape in the daylight, and now in the dark, shadows loomed everywhere. Everything looked different, threatening, and still feeling a somewhat shaky from my dice with death, I was washed over with a wave of remembrance of how it felt that first day out of the Vault. Overwhelming. To comfort myself, I flipped on Galaxy News Radio, and was swiftly silenced by Cecelia. She grabbed the wrist with my Pip-Boy, and yanked my arm towards her, fumbling with the thing to switch it off. She couldn't. _Hah. Bested by technology I aced when I was ten. Not so smart now, are we?_

"Do you want to let the whole Wasteland know we're here? You'd think with a bounty on your head, you'd want to be a little more discreet."

I rolled my eyes petulantly and abruptly switched it off – right on the opening chords of one of my favourite songs, too. I had only been trying to make the best of a bad situation. Charon, who had been standing between us before Cecelia had pulled me over to her, now stood behind me, just out of view. Somehow, though, I had a feeling he was laughing at me – but when I turned my head and eyed him with an accusatory glare, he made a face at me as though butter wouldn't melt.

"So, where are we headed now, anyway?" Cecelia was looking back behind herself, too, and it struck me that it was incredibly stupid of her to volunteer to accompany us when she didn't even know where we were going. It almost sounded like something I might have done.

"We're going to find Dr. Salvatore," I answered, doing my best not to sound too pleased with myself for knowing something she didn't.

"Who?"

"An old friend of mine. All you need to know, C, is that I'm going to settle a score."

I would have felt honoured that Charon had chosen to share his past with me and not Cecelia, if it hadn't been for the fact that I'd had to force it out of him. I guess it was just because I cared more than she did. That's right. I _did_ care about that stupid, belligerent, anti-social fuck-up. I'd only known him a week, but it felt _so much_ longer. I'd been through more with him in the short time I had known him than I had with of most the kids I'd grown up with. How did people survive out in the Wastes? You never got so much as five minutes peace without someone or something trying to kill, eat, maim or rob you blind.

"Alright, I don't want to pry. We'll carry on walking through the night, and set up camp somewhere at day break."

Blahblahblahblahblah_blah_. Did she always have to sound so confident about everything? Didn't that woman doubt _anything_ she did? I did up the fastenings on my jacket against the cold, and fixed my eyes on the darkening horizon. A trio, now, with a brahmin bringing up the rear – it was like a proper little family, just as dysfunctional as any other. I should have been happy – wasn't this what I had wanted since I'd left the safety of my home? And at least Cecelia seemed a little more predisposed to conversation than her male counterpart. I just had to learn to get over myself.

**Charon**

Women. Fucking women. I was beginning to wish that my contract had been bought by some uncomplicated, asshole trader who just made me shoot, shoot, kill, maim, shoot. I understood that, at least. The kid made no such sense. Every time I thought I had her figured out, she'd go gaga on me again. Just like she was doing now. I'd been certain she wouldn't agree to let Cecelia come with us – it was clear she didn't like the woman - but she'd done an about turn and made us into one happy little family.

Well, despite what she told herself about doing this for me - this was her idea, her adventure, her rules, so I kept my mouth shut. But I could see she wasn't happy with her decision – so why did she do it? If you're unhappy with something, change it. Maybe because I lacked the ability to do just that, I was frustrated by the incapability of others follow that little piece of advice. Life was fleeting for most – why make herself unhappy unnecessarily? Did she think misguidedly she was doing it for me? Truth be told, I wasn't exactly happy about it, either. For some reason, having Cecelia and the kid together made me unreasonably uncomfortable. I didn't want the kid near anyone who I'd been intimately close to. She asked too many questions, and there were certain things I just didn't want her to know. Still, by the way things were going, it didn't look as though the two would be having any girlish bonding sessions any time soon, so I guess I was safe.

We walked most of the night – stopping once or twice to eat and catch our breath. I was near-enough healed (one thing I could thank my ghoulification for) but my leg still ached. I daren't say anything, though, because the kid watched me like a hawk, and if I gave the slightest hint I was in pain, I knew she'd make a fuss. Her conversation was unusually stunted, and it was savagely entertaining to watch her struggle though this little social experiment. She tried her hardest, but was clearly finding it difficult to hide her dislike of Cecelia. She was suddenly a lot more guarded, and for the first time since we met, I felt almost like I could relate to her. This was her weakness, the chink in her armour; she couldn't handle competition. She liked being the star of her very own Wasteland Adventurer Show, and Cecelia was encroaching on her leading role. Perhaps that was why she had wanted Cecelia to stay with us – to man up to her failings. Begrudgingly, I awarded her a little respect. It took guts to face up to the bad points in your personality. Fuck, I didn't even know where I'd begin with myself. But that was what the kid was for – she was helping me better myself. Or at least that's what she wanted me to think.

When dawn began to show its head, we were all pretty beat, and we decided to stop for some much needed rest. We stopped off at an old abandoned town, and figured to set up camp in one of the little houses that had withstood the nuclear apocalypse surprisingly well. Now that Eulogy Jones wanted to make us his bitches, things were going to be a bit trickier when it came to keeping a low profile, and I seemed to always be on tenterhooks. We hadn't passed anyone on the journey – but every outcropping that look like it could be a human silhouette, and every rustle in the bushes had made me react. With my gun. There's not much more that he could do to my old bones – but I'm sure he had cooked up plenty enough cruel, disgusting, _obscene_ things to do to the kid, and I was going to make sure he never got the opportunity. The worst thing about it was that I don't even think she knew what sort of danger she was in, and she wouldn't listen when I tried to tell her, either. She would just dismiss me with a brusque, "Don't remind me of what happened there, please," and move on. It was fucking frustrating.

The house we decided to make home for the day was a quaint, tumbledown little thing – guess it must have looked pretty welcoming in its day. Now the boarded up windows and cracked paint just made it look like some sort Shack O'Horrors. Perfect for a couple of zombies to wait out the daylight hours – and the kid, our fair-skinned, waif of a captive princess. Shit, I could be pretty poetic when I put my mind to it – although I chose not to share the imagery with the kid, for fear of a reprimand for likening her to a fairytale, even if that _was _where she spent most of her time.

I cracked open the door and looked inside; dust spiralled in the air, caught in the rays of sunlight that poured through the cracks in the wall. Apart from a few radroaches that I made short work of, the place was safe enough, and after Cecelia had tied up Buttercup, both she and the kid followed me in to take a look around. I took a seat on a stained, dusty old sofa, grateful for the opportunity to rest my leg, while they took the opportunity to take stock of the building – Cecelia no doubt to scav some supplies, and the kid – well, just to be _the kid_ about the whole place.

"Holy moly! Just look at all this pre-war stuff! It's absolutely fascinating. It's like a little museum or something!"

There it was. Just on cue. Her eyes lit up as the toyed with an old screen that was placed directly in front of the sofa. She was turning a little knob, as if she expected it to spring to life like her Pip-Boy, and start blasting out GNR. She looked back at me expectantly, her eyes bright, white orbs in a dust-smeared face. I didn't have the heart to tell her I'd seen more places like this than I cared to remember, and instead gestured with a flick of my hand to the room around me.

"Yeah, it's great, kid."

She smiled at me, as if she had been expecting me to make fun of her childish delight, and was relieved that I hadn't taken the opportunity. She undid her jacket and slung it down on the floor, and once again, her shoulders and the slightest hint of her midriff were exposed, just as they had been back in the cave. She had turned back to the cracked screen, and I felt _almost _guilty for looking at her the way that I did, but I couldn't help myself – despite what she seemed to think, under all my rotten flesh, I was still just a man, and it had been a _long_ time since I'd spent this much time with a woman. But that was just the problem – this wasn't a woman. This was the kid, for fuck's sake, and to have any thoughts that were anything less than immaculate about her was about as wrong as fantasising about Buttercup the brahmin. But it had been waiting to happen for days now – ever since before Paradise Falls, when there had been the subtlest of shifts in our relationship - and now that I was no longer in gut-wrenching agony, my brain just wouldn't let it go. Every now and then, I'd see a tantalising glimpse of flesh and _wham_, it would hit me– although, unfortunately (or fortunately, as the case may have been) there wasn't much hope of the subsequent _bam, thankyou ma'am_. I wasn't an idiot; I knew how I looked, and it wasn't exactly the sum of hopeful, girlish dreams. I could see the slight hint of disgust whenever she looked at me. And that was a good thing. If it was just in my head, safely concealed, it couldn't get out and fuck about with everything. Life was difficult enough with the kid as it was. I watched as she took off the front of the screen and peered at its insides; I was trying to pretend that I wasn't shamefully curious to see how the rest of her body compared to the few glimpses I had so far seen, and my brain was offering all sorts of unhelpful suggestions.

"I'm going to check out the upstairs and see what I can find. I bet there's a bed upstairs, too, and it's been _so long_ since I slept in proper a bed, Charon!"

I was on my own for about twenty minutes, then, and the peace was blessed. Closing my eyes, I had almost forgotten what it was like to have nothing but my own thoughts for company – but unsurprisingly, my thoughts kept returning to the kid. There's something irresistible about corrupting the incorruptible. Something that a dark, cruel part of me wanted to experiment with, that rightfully should have stayed locked away wherever it was currently hiding. I was such a complete prick sometimes. I shouldn't have been thinking like that - I was supposed to be growing as a person, right? But that was part of the problem - I was incredibly concerned about one particular place on my person _growing_ because of the kid's interference.

Cecelia interrupted my thoughts, thankfully, by coming back into the room. I had to nip this whole thing with the kid in the bud right now – because I knew sex with her wouldn't just be sex. She'd expect the whole kit and caboodle - marriage, kids, and a two-headed family dog in a quaint little shack somewhere, with a pleasant view of the ruined nuclear Wasteland. I wasn't interested in any of that. I wasn't really interested in the kid – or at least, I didn't want to be. She was just this thing that I couldn't touch, and so of course, I wanted to. It was just how things worked – life was already getting ready to kick you in the jewels just when you thought things were going your way. I opened my eyes and looked at Cecelia; she leaned against the doorframe leisurely, giving me a look that I knew all too well. I closed my eyes again, and we remained there in silence for another ten minutes or so. I wasn't going to say a word. Finally, she did.

"I figure this is a good enough place to stay for a few hours and get some rest. Best to stay out of the open in the daylight now, anyway – what with you being a wanted man."

"Mmhmm."

There was silence again as she considered how to phrase what she was about to say next. I knew exactly what was about to come out of those cracked, once-pink lips of hers, but I watched her with my long-gone eyebrows slightly raised and with a coy smile on my lips. She looked back with something close to irritation.

"So, anyway, Charon. The kids are all tucked up in bed – what say you and I _catch up_. For old time's sake."

"By kids I assume you're referring to Buttercup and Little Miss Vault 101?"

"Of course. So, what do you say?"

I was torn. All of a sudden I had Cecelia offering herself on a plate. It was funny; I hadn't even thought about the old in and out for months – seeing Ahzrukhal's ugly fucking mug every day cured me of any unwanted carnal urges down in Underworld. But shit. Being around that dumb fucking kid who wouldn't understand sexual tension if you smacked her around the head with it had taken its toll. I'd got the itch again for sure, and lucky enough, Cecelia had turned up exactly at the right time to stop me from doing anything stupid with people I shouldn't be going anywhere near without a rosary. She really was a godsend.

I felt like I was betraying the kid somehow, though. It was fucking ridiculous, and I decided to ignore it – but there it was, niggling away at the back of my head. Just like she did. If I had a conscience, you can bet your ass it had that same smug little face that she always got when she knew she had the moral high ground. I pushed it back into the recesses of my mind – and anyway, I didn't have to _tell _the kid. I figured she'd be asleep – she had disappeared into the children's bedroom upstairs for the past half an hour and I'd not heard a peep out of her, and when the kid wasn't talking, she was either eating or sleeping. And what the kid didn't know, couldn't hurt her – or me, for that matter.

"Alright. Let me just check on the kid, first. Make sure she's not started a crusade to liberate Mr Handys from enslavement at the hands of their evil human oppressors or something."

Cecelia gave me a look then, and I didn't fucking like it one bit. It sort of said - _you've gone soft, Charon. Tut tut tut_. I looked back and considered saying something, but I didn't have to prove anything to her. I decided instead to make her pay for that look after I'd made sure the kid was sleeping soundly.

When I walked in and found her kneeling upright on the floor, I was understandably unpleasantly surprised. This was going to be a fucking brilliant conversation, this was. Teddy-bear wallpaper cracked away from the walls, and torn, tiny, browning clothes lay strewn across the floor. The kid was sat in front of a toy chest, laying out old toys gently in the floor next to her. She had that same sort of concentration on her face that she had had when unlocking the slave collars back at Paradise Falls.

"Oh, shit kid. I thought you'd be asleep."

"It's so sad." She was holding a doll in her hands, and her face was tilted downwards as she inspected it tenderly, as if it had been her own cherished childhood possession.

"What is?"

"I wonder what happened to this little kid."

"Kicked it from radiation poisoning, I'd imagine."

She looked at me as if I'd just slapped her in the face, her eyes both angry and hurt at the same time. Fuck me, I was only being honest. She knew it and I knew it – why did she need me to sugarcoat things still? I relented, like I always did with her.

"Of course, she could have been one of the lucky ones who made it into a vault."

Although, I wondered if they really were the lucky ones. Don't get me wrong, being this fucking rotting walking corpse wasn't exactly fun, but call me crazy – the kid didn't exactly sound like she'd had a party down in the vault, either. And now look at her – stuck on her own in the big wide world, without a clue how to handle herself or the people around her. Think I'd rather take my chances with the nuclear apocalypse.

"Yeah. Maybe. I hope so. I'm thinking of burying some of her things, you know, out of respect?"

_Fuck_ it. This was just getting worse by the second. What was I supposed to say to her now? _Hey kid! It's great that you're grieving for some little shit you never knew – I'm just gonna step next door and do the mommy-daddy dance with Cecelia. Alright with you?_ Best just to get it out and off my chest. She was a big girl, now. Or at least, she had to start acting like one, anyway. So why the fuck did I feel so bad about telling her?

"Hey, kid, listen. Cecelia and me were just going to disappear next door for a while. If anything happens – just shout, alright?"

She looked up at me from the doll with that funny little suspicious look she always got when she thought someone was trying to mess with her head. Her hands remained tight around the doll's body, and the way she was crouched, holding it like some sort of much-valued scrap of food, made her seem almost like a feral ghoul or something.

"What are you going next door for?"

"Come on, kid. You're a smart girl."

"I know I am, but answer my question."

I could see in her face she knew _exactly_ why we were heading next door, so why the fuck was the sneaky little bitch being so awkward with me? Sometimes, I wondered if I painted her in a far too innocent light. She knew exactly what she was doing right now, which was making my life unnecessarily difficult.

"Fuck, kid, don't be an ass. You know what I'm trying to say."

She stood from the floor, and let her hands drop to her sides. One of them still held the doll around the waist, and her bottom lip was ever-so-slightly protruding. It wasn't intentional, I don't think, but she couldn't have looked more like a ten year old about to have a tantrum if she had tried. I should have guessed she was about to throw her toys out of the pram.

"You can't."

"What?"

"You heard me." Her face was stern and emotionless, and it honestly threw me for a loop. The kid was never emotionless, even when she tried to be.

"What do you mean _I can't_? Because of how _disgusting_ it is?"

"No – it's just – no. I'm putting my foot down. We're supposed to be looking for Salvatore, not messing around in bed together. It's just wasting more time." She threw the doll onto the child's bed and made a show of gathering some things to get moving again. She shoved passed me on her way to the door, but I wasn't going to let it go. I'd worked my fucking ass off for her and she couldn't give me a little R&R time?

"_We're_ not messing around in bed together - Cecelia and I are. Or at least, we were going to, until you decided to stick your nose in."

"Get fucked, zombie breath, you know what I meant. Now let's just get moving."

She had her hand on the door knob, but had turned to give me a look of utter contempt. Where did _that _come from? A tantrum I had expected, but such untamed hostility towards me was a new trick for her. I followed her to the door, and grabbed her firmly by the shoulder; she refused to move, and I felt her tense under my touch.

"You need to get some rest, kid, and while you're off with the sandman, I really don't see the problem with me having some fun. God knows I never get to have any when you're awake."

"Stop pushing it. You have to do what I say, Charon, because I have your contract. And I said no."

Well, needless to say, I was just a little bit pissed off. I could usually keep my temper with her, but every now and then, she'd push me too far and I'd just snap – and usually end up regretting it, too. Just look at what had happened last time – she'd ended up in tears and I'd had to put her back together again. But there was no stopping it – I could feel it boiling over. I shoved her away from me, back against the door. She was being completely unreasonable, and I was fed up with her childish tempers.

"Are you jealous, kid? Is that what it is? Suddenly Miss Shit Don't Stink has the same old hankering down in her pants as the rest of us lowly grunts, and it's making her grumpy because she can't get any?"

Oh, I'd done it now. Her face was near vermillion, and I could tell she was incandescent with rage. I was expecting the full force of her fury, but before she had the chance to let loose, I swept low to the ground, tucking a hand under my body in a mocking bow.

"Fine, kid. Whatever. You command and I shall obey. I won't go near Cecelia. For now."

When I looked back up, though, the colour had fled her cheeks, and she had a funny sort of expression on her face. It was a kind of a mixture of shock and annoyance and dawning understanding. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was slightly open, and before I could ask her what was wrong – because I shit you now when I say it looked as though she was about to puke all over me - she held up a palm in my direction.

"Excuse me. I need to get some air."

And then she opened the door and abruptly left, walking down the stairs, passed Cecelia without a word, and out into the pink dawn of the Wasteland. I watched her go, bewildered and ashamed, yet again, of my outburst, and considered following - but she looked as though she might need some time alone, and so I let her go. Besides, I fucking hated apologising. I dreaded to think what was going to happen next in the ongoing drama that was life with the kid, and left the room to give the bad news to Cecelia. It looked like I'd have to quell any stirrings in my nethers with a cold dip in a highly irradiated lake somewhere. So much for happy endings.

**Lone Wanderer**

Oh. My. _God._

It hit me like a ton of bricks. A ton of unwanted, badly timed, incredibly unlikely bricks. Clearly my feelings for Charon ran a little deeper than that suitable for a simple companion. Clearly I was outstandingly jealous of his relationship with Cecelia. Clearly, I was off my pissing rocker. I fled to the safety of the outside world, feeling all of a sudden light-headed and out of breath with fear and frustration. Teenage hormones, it had to be. I was in a strange new place, all on my own, and he was the only one who had shown me any sort of kindness – even if it had been bought and paid for. I was obviously mistaking my need for any sort of companionship for something else. Obviously.

It was absolutely ludicrous. I couldn't have a crush – and that was _all _it was – on a ghoul. It was wrong on so many levels. His torn flesh was bad enough, but it wasn't nearly as unsightly as his demeanour. He wasn't even _nice_ to me, half the time. He was cruel and abrupt and condescending. But he was always there for me, and he had never let me down - and he was always honest, something far too rare these days. Christ, what a mess. I could just imagine bringing _him_ home to meet my father. _Hey Dad, I'd like you to meet the flavour of the month – but don't shake his hand too hard, in case it falls off!_

And exactly what else ran the risk of "falling off"? I didn't even want to think about it. I knew little enough as it was about the ins and outs – if you'll excuse the pun – of sexual gratification. Sure, I knew what biologically was supposed to happen, but that really was pretty much it. The thought of being intimate with Charon was almost as terrifying, and unappealing, as going one-to-one with a deathclaw for five rounds. So why did it get under my skin so badly every time Cecelia brushed Charon's arm to get his attention, or when they laughed at an inside joke? Why did I find the idea of him and her _together _utterly unbearable? Because I was a masochist, that was why.

And one couldn't exactly call Charon the most loving of individuals. I was fairly certain that if I confessed – confessed _whatever it was_ I was feeling - he would laugh in my face. What a complete mess. This was just like me. Just like me to go and do something so impractically stupid to myself, at the worst of all possible times. I leaned back against the wall, stained a rosey pink colour from the rising sun, and slid down it until I sat on the arid ground. I hit my head several times on the wall behind me, hoping it would knock some sense into me. _You stupid, stupid, stupid, little idiot_.

I'd always done my level best to stay well clear of boys; they made no sense whatsoever to me. Back in the Vault, it had been easy enough; Amata was far too pretty for anyone to notice gawky, awkward _me _next to her - and I was glad of it. So was Dad, actually – although I think he was beginning to wonder if there might have been something wrong with me towards the end of his stint in 101. As far as I saw things, it was one less complication I had to deal with, and I have always hated complications. If there had been any doubt in my mind – any temptation to give in to my unruly, unpredictable teenage longings – my experience with Freddie had dealt the finishing blow to any desire to find myself a mate. And now look at me. Deny yourself normal companionship, it seemed, and apparently your body rebels and decides to go for anything with a pulse – even a walking corpse. This was practically _necrophilia! _I was so ashamed.

I had to shake myself out of it. This was a momentary madness, brought about by my loneliness and the terrible things I had been through at Paradise Falls. Whatever was happening, I was certainly not attracted to Charon. I just had to look at him to confirm that.

Right?

It was no use. There was a problem; I had to resolve it. That's what I was – I was a problem solver. From what I could see, I had three options: ignore the problem, ask Charon to leave my employ, or tell Charon how I felt. Ignoring how I felt had obviously proven ineffectual, and asking him to leave didn't make any sense either – I'd paid out of my ass for him, and I couldn't find Dad without his help, or more accurately, his shotgun. So I was down to my last alternative. Even if he didn't return my affection, at least it would be out of my system, and I could get over it, right? Just like when I had a cold as a kid – once the worst was over, you'd feel a bit sniffly for a few days, but then you'd be back on fighting form. And if he did feel the same? We'd realise soon enough we were hopelessly incompatible, and amicably decide to remain just friends, employer and employee. It was going to be simple. It was going to be _easy_.

So that was it. My mind was made up. I was a mature, intelligent woman, in control of her life. First I had to get rid of Cecelia – I wouldn't be able to do anything while she was around, for fear of untamed, merciless ridicule. I would simply ask her to leave, and then I would make my move on Charon.

... Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod_ohgod_.


End file.
